


well i lagged behind, so you got ahead

by texaswatermelon



Series: we went too far (now there’s no way back) [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/F, Insults, Lovers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers again, Original Character(s), Relapse, Siblings, Verbal Abuse, and there's a dog, cassandra finally learns how to love herself, rachel berry gets everything she wants and deserves in life, they are both assholes and perfect angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:52:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texaswatermelon/pseuds/texaswatermelon
Summary: “I know that this isn’t some fairytale. Things aren’t going to magically be perfect. But I’ve been waiting for you without even meaning to. I know that I can do things without you, but I don’t want to if I don’t have to. I feel traces of you in every part of me. That has to mean something. Even if it’s dramatic, it’s true.”





	well i lagged behind, so you got ahead

**Author's Note:**

> the tags make this story sound worse than it actually is, but please read them and be safe anyway.
> 
> the cast for some of the original characters, as i imagined them:
> 
> melissa july -> rose byrne  
> marcus -> mike colter  
> frannie fabray -> amber heard  
> jonathan -> peter vack  
> emily -> sophie turner
> 
> title is from _gold mine gutted_ by bright eyes.
> 
> if you're interested, check out [the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/texaswatermelon/playlist/462GKG6RPbcedvvn1mk04b?) that i created for this series on spotify while you read this. it's meant to played across all three stories in this series.

“Schwimmer, you’re going to be late.”

She’s not, actually. They both know that, but the statement causes Rachel to fly around the apartment like a cat on speed, which Cassandra finds amusing.

“Have you seen my other heel?” Rachel asks frantically, hopping around on one foot while she pulls the other one on.

Cassandra reaches under the bed and produces the lost shoe with ease. At least one of Rachel’s shoes almost always ends up under the bed when Rachel flings them off the night before. Rachel sighs with relief and takes the proffered footwear. It completes her outfit, and she finally takes a moment to slow down her frenetic routine. 

She gazes down at Cassandra, who’s still sitting on the bed, and tenderly tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Cassandra closes her eyes against the touch. These moments, when Rachel handles her so gently, when she looks like she’s never loved anyone or anything so much in her life, still send a sharp pain through Cassandra’s chest that she’s sure she’ll never get used to. She’s also pretty sure she’s not _supposed_ to.

“I’ll miss you tonight,” Rachel says.

“Me too,” Cassandra sighs.

Rachel smiles, and the way her eyes are shining almost makes Cassandra want to roll her eyes. She’s seriously never met anyone who cries as much as Rachel, and it actually seems to be getting worse as Rachel gets older. 

“Your support means everything to me. You’re amazing.”

“You don’t have to tell me what I already know,” Cassandra says with a smirk. Rachel chuckles and leans down to give her a kiss.

“I have to go. I’ll see you later tonight. Have fun at your meeting.”

Cassandra does roll her eyes at that.

“Break a leg, Schwimmer.”

Rachel shoots her one last smile before she walks out the door and Cassandra allows herself to fall back onto the bed.

She’s pretty much always known that Rachel was going to be a star. With her talent and annoyingly relentless determination, Broadway would have to yield to the very loud demands of Rachel Berry eventually. Still, the rate of Rachel’s success is pretty surprising. She’d gotten her first off-off-Broadway gig the summer after her sophomore year. It had only been a chorus part, but it quickly led to other, larger roles during her junior and senior years. Now Rachel’s graduated from NYADA, and keeping busy with a pretty decent supporting role in the off-Broadway play, _The Greenwich Village Follies_. It’s astounding, to be honest. The odds of such rapid success are extremely low.

She’s been to several of Rachel’s performances so far, and she might have gone tonight if not for this stupid fucking staff meeting she has to attend at NYADA. Cassandra hates basically all of her colleagues, and sitting in a room with them for several hours while they go over the goals and objectives for the next year is enough to make her want to drown herself in vodka. After what happened at the last meeting, though—the one where she almost threw the music theory professor right on his ass—she thinks she’d better refrain.

Cassandra allows herself to lie there for some indeterminable amount of time while she thinks about all the ways in which she could make this staff meeting total hell for the rest of the teachers. Every one of them ends with Carmen Thibodeaux murdering her in her sleep, so she finally relents and starts getting dressed.

If she’s lucky, she might be able to sleep the whole time without anyone noticing.

xx

Days later, she wakes up with Rachel’s head between her thighs, tongue working at her relentlessly. Dark eyes connect with hers, and Cassandra feels that pressure low in her belly building too quickly. This is how she knows she’s in too deep with Rachel. Cassandra can’t remember the last person that made her come just by looking at her; she doesn’t think it’s ever actually happened. But Rachel…Rachel looks at her and Cassandra feels her heart and thighs clench at the same time. She reaches for something, anything to anchor herself to, but nothing is solid enough. Nothing makes her feel like she’s not going to slide right off of the earth and into oblivion, until Rachel’s fingers lock with hers and she explodes into blinding, white heat.

Even then, it’s Rachel who brings her back; kisses her jaw and brushes the hair back from her forehead while Cassandra feels herself being reassembled piece by piece. When she opens her eyes, Rachel is there looking down at her, eyes flickering over every inch of her face as if there’s some part of it that she hasn’t already memorized after four years.

“I love you,” Rachel says quietly. 

She doesn’t have to. It’s evident in her face, her breath, the way she swallows. Rachel exudes love in everything she does. Cassandra wonders if she’s the same way. Can Rachel tell just by looking at her that Cassandra can’t remember being this happy in her entire life? Can she tell by the rushing of the blood under her skin when they touch that Cassandra hadn’t known what it was to be loved before Rachel? Can she understand all of the things that Cassandra _doesn’t_ say, doesn’t know the words for, or can’t force past her lips for fear of crumbling to dust afterwards?

_You almost make me forget that I hate myself. You make me believe. You make me feel like my chest is going to cave in from the pressure of how much I love you, but I don’t ever want that feeling to go away. You make me feel like someone I thought I’d lost a long time ago._

Cassandra leans up to kiss her, and she can taste the remnants of herself on Rachel’s lips. She wraps her arms around Rachel’s neck and pulls her down. She needs to feel the weight of Rachel on top of her, a reminder that this is all real. The rise and fall of Rachel’s chest against her own, the feel of Rachel’s breath on her neck and the smell of her hair make Cassandra feel solid.

“Last show tonight,” Cassandra comments after a while, and she thinks that Rachel may have fallen asleep, but then Rachel sighs and shifts against her.

“I know. I’m kind of sad. I really like this cast.”

“That’s the job, Schwimmer. You get to see people naked for a few months, and then you move on and see a whole new group of people naked.”

“You’re so charming,” Rachel laughs. She kisses Cassandra’s cheek and moves to get out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Cassandra asks, reaching after her. Rachel rolls out of her grasp, stands up, and stretches.

“We’re meeting Quinn and Brody for brunch, remember?”

Cassandra huffs and rolls her eyes. Watching Brody and Princess Peach drape themselves over each other is exactly the last thing she wants to be doing this morning.

“I wasn’t done with you yet,” she calls after Rachel, who has started making her way towards the bathroom. Rachel tosses a lascivious look over her shoulder.

“There’s room for two in the shower,” she says, and shuts the door behind her. Cassandra smirks and rolls out of bed when she hears the water turn on.

xx

They find Brody and Quinn sitting at a table in the middle of the diner that they’ve agreed to meet at. Quinn, Cassandra admits grudgingly to herself, looks the part of a native New Yorker with relative ease in her sleek gray dress with ankle boots, aviators perched atop her sunny hair and a large cup of coffee in front of her. Brody is his usual absurdly attractive self, and Cassandra can already spot at least five girls and two guys who appear to be checking out his bare arms.

“I thought you two were never going to get here,” Quinn says in that bored voice she has while accepting a hug from Rachel.

“I’m sure it’s all Cass’ fault,” Brody says, looking at her suggestively. 

Cassandra smirks. “Jealous, Brody? Isn’t Princess Peach putting out enough?”

“ _Cassie_ ,” Rachel hisses in admonishment. 

Quinn settles unimpressed hazel eyes on her and Cassandra winks, which gets her the expected eye roll.

“I’m going to write about you in a book someday,” Quinn says, like it’s a threat.

“Just let me know when you want to sit down for an interview, Princess,” Cassandra replies as their waiter comes over to take their order. He spends the entire time blatantly staring at and flirting with Brody, and Cassandra watches as Quinn’s lips steadily curl up in a nasty looking snarl.

“How is your job going, Quinn?” Rachel asks once the waiter finally leaves and Quinn doesn’t look like she’s going to pounce anymore.

“It’s fine. A lot of filing and answering phones and getting people coffee, but that’s to be expected. Eventually I’ll work my way up and they’ll let me start reading things.”

Quinn’s Yale connections got her an entry-level position at a publishing house in New York after she graduated. She’s another kid who’s lucky enough to start working towards her dreams straight out of college, Cassandra thinks. She deliberately doesn’t think about how she was one of those kids once, too. Brody isn’t fast tracking towards fame quite as quickly as Rachel, but even he’s gotten some decent parts here and there.

“I think you’re going to be great at it,” Rachel says sincerely. 

Quinn shoots her a genuine smile, like she hasn’t heard that very many times in her life, and she actually believes it coming from Rachel. Brody reaches over to grasp Quinn’s hand in silent agreement, and this is one of the many reasons why Cassandra loves Rachel. She’s so good at bringing people together, at refusing to listen to the naysayers and working her ass off to prove them wrong until they either become her best friend or fall in love with her.

“Are you excited for your last show tonight, Rach?” Brody asks through a mouthful of food after their waiter returns, exchanging glares with Quinn the entire time.

“I have very mixed feelings about tonight’s show. While I’m always excited for a performance, this one is tinged with a certain sense of melancholy due to the fact that I know I probably won’t see most of the cast again,” Rachel says in that ridiculous tone she always uses whenever she talks about performing. “I’m also kind of nervous for the after party, since there will probably be a lot of important people there and I’m sure at least one of them has noticed my talent by now.”

Cassandra barely represses a snort, but Rachel seems to sense it and shoots her an irritated glare anyway.

“Don’t worry, Schwimmer, I actually find your arrogance endearing after four years of exposure,” Cassandra says sweetly. 

Rachel rolls her eyes, but does a poor job of hiding her smile.

xx

The performance is a good one—definitely one of the best of the ones that Cassandra has seen. The cast huddles on stage as the audience filters out, hugging and congratulating each other, some of them crying. That’s how she finds Rachel backstage: makeup all smudged and tear tracks running down her cheeks.

“Come on, Schwimmer, it’s not all that bad, is it?” Cassandra says, reaching out to cradle Rachel’s face in her hands. She uses her thumbs to gently clean up Rachel’s makeup and wipe her remaining tears away.

“It’s not,” Rachel laughs. “I’m actually really happy. You know I always cry when I get too emotional.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that trait. Luckily for you, I’ve made enough people cry in my life that it doesn’t really bother me.”

Rachel purses her lips at that and Cassandra uses the opportunity to lean in and kiss her. She backs Rachel up against the nearby vanity and wraps one of Rachel’s legs around her hip.

“Cassie,” Rachel breathes once Cassandra starts trailing kisses down her jaw. “We have to go to the wrap party.” She gasps when Cassandra reaches a hand up under her dress.

“They won’t mind if we’re fashionably late,” Cassandra murmurs.

Rachel takes a steadying breath and reaches down to grab Cassandra’s wrist and gently remove her hand from under the dress. Cassandra raises an eyebrow.

“I really don’t want to miss this,” Rachel says, though she looks like she really regrets having stopped their activities.

“Alright, Schwimmer,” Cassandra agrees easily. She places a quick kiss on top of Rachel’s forehead and then helps her readjust her dress. “Let’s go mingle.”

xx

Cassandra has always hated these kinds of parties. Even when she was a young ingénue herself, full of promise and potential, she’d hated having to come to these wrap parties to be ogled at by sleazy old men who promised to make her a star, for the right price. A hand job for an audition, a blowjob for a chorus part, and an actual speaking role if you let him fuck you over a table and you were pretty enough. Cassandra learned that sex was valued over talent very early in the game. She’s not going to let Rachel fall prey to any of that.

Rachel is completely in her element here, laughing and chatting happily with Jonathan, a fellow cast mate with whom she became fast friends, and who also happens to be dating Kurt after the two met at Rachel’s behest. Cassandra likes him. He’s the only one of Rachel’s cast mates who doesn’t avert his gaze as soon as she looks at him, like her insanity might be contagious or something.

“That was so long ago,” he’d said when the topic came up, waving it away like it was nothing. “Honestly, I would have tried to throttle the guy if his cell phone went off in the middle of my performance, too. I mean really, is nothing sacred anymore?”

Cassandra is used to the reactions by now, though. Every time someone in the cast of any production that Rachel’s working on catches sight of her dropping Rachel off or picking her up from rehearsal for the first time, they kind of gawk at her like they’re seeing Hitler risen from the grave. Rachel, for her part, doesn’t let it faze her at all. She kisses Cassandra proudly in front of anyone who might be there to see and always brings her to any cast functions. Cassandra appreciates it; the fact that Rachel is so proud to be with her warms her heart a bit, but she always has this nagging fear that her presence will hurt Rachel’s reputation and her chance of getting roles.

Half an hour into the wrap party, a tall, bald man with a hooked nose and small eyes approaches them, and Cassandra can tell before he even opens his mouth that he’s a director.

“Rachel Berry?” he says, and it sounds like a question, but he clearly already knows who she is. Rachel stops whatever she’s saying to Jonathan mid-sentence and turns her megawatt smile on the man.

“Yes?”

“I’m Jacob Goldberg.” He extends a hand to her and Rachel tells him how nice it is to meet him. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Cassandra barely resists the urge to roll her eyes, and her arm winds its way around Rachel’s waist. “I wanted to tell you how riveting I found your performance tonight. Honestly, you should be the star of every show you’re in. You’re simply incredible.”

Rachel’s eyes light up like Times Square on a Friday night and her smile gets even wider, if that’s possible.

“Thank you so much! That’s great to hear,” she gushes.

Jonathan meets Cassandra’s gaze and she can’t help her wry smirk. Watching Rachel lap up compliments like they’re her lifeblood is always amusing.

“Well, I’m sure you want to get back to celebrating, so I’ll try not to take up too much of your time and cut to the chase,” Goldberg says. “I’m putting a production together—a modernized stage adaptation of _Gone with the Wind_ —that’s going to open up at the Gershwin. I need someone fresh and promising to play my Scarlett. I’d really like it if you auditioned for the role, Rachel.”

Rachel’s mouth hangs open and her eyes are wide as saucers. Cassandra feels something ugly twist inside of her stomach immediately. And it shouldn’t. That should not be her visceral reaction. Her heart should be swelling with pride and her head should be dizzy with love and she should be sweeping Rachel into her arms and kissing her senseless and congratulating the hell out of her. This is exactly what Rachel has been waiting for her whole life, and she fucking _deserves_ it, and Cassandra should be ecstatic right now. It’s just… she’s reeling from this awful sense of déjà vu because this scene is almost an exact replica of one from her past. Fourteen years ago, she was standing in Rachel’s shoes, celebrating after a show when some hotshot director came up to her and asked her to try out for _Damn Yankees_. The familiarity of it is making her insides churn nastily.

By the time Cassandra tunes back in to what’s happening around her, Goldberg is gone and Rachel is turning to her, bouncing on her toes in excitement.

“Cassie, did you hear? He wants me to audition for the lead role in a Broadway show!” she squeals.

“I heard, Schwim. That’s amazing,” Cassandra replies, and she tries to be genuine, but her smile feels stretched. She’s grateful when Rachel throws her arms around her neck and hugs her so she doesn’t have the chance to notice. “I’m going to go grab us some drinks so we can toast,” she offers once Rachel pulls away, and hustles over to the bar while Rachel turns to talk to Jonathan, vacillating between an incredibly high pitched voice and talking a mile a minute.

She orders three champagnes from the bartender when she catches his attention.

“And two shots of Bacardi, while you’re at it,” she adds as an afterthought.

The shots land in front of her and Cassandra tosses them back immediately, one right after the other. The familiar burn in the back of her throat and the warmth that settles low in her belly eases her only marginally. She grabs the flutes of champagne and heads back over to Rachel and Jonathan with a practiced smile plastered on her face.

“To you, Schwimmer. You’re finally getting to live out your dream,” Cassandra says.

The three of them clink their glasses together and drink. Cassandra downs hers in one gulp, and if Jonathan raises an eyebrow at her, she ignores him. She’s focused on Rachel, who is positively beaming at her with stars in her eyes. Rachel leans in for a kiss and Cassandra accepts it, tasting the dryness of the champagne on Rachel’s lips and trying with all of her might to force her love for Rachel to overpower the sourness in the pit of her stomach.

xx

By the time morning rolls around, she feels completely fine (aside from her massive hangover), and she doesn’t remember what she was so worked up about in the first place.

She wakes to a pounding noise and it takes several moments for her to realize that it’s not just in her head and someone is actually at the door. Rachel’s hair is in her mouth and Cassandra has to fish it out and work to disentangle their bodies in order to get out of bed. Rachel groans and rolls over to press her face into the pillow. Cassandra pulls on a t-shirt and some underwear and stumbles over to the door, ripping it open to stop the incessant pounding. It’s Kurt, of course, and he pushes past Cassandra and into the apartment, an apologetic looking Jonathan on his heels.

“Where is she?” Kurt demands, spinning around to spot the Rachel-shaped lump on the bed.

“It’s way too early for this shit, Sparkles,” Cassandra says with a murderous look on her face.

“It’s past eleven,” Kurt says incredulously. He shoves a carrier full of coffee and a paper bag at her and bounces over to jump on the bed and shake Rachel awake. “Wake up Barbra!”

Cassandra rolls her eyes and sets the carrier and bag onto the table. She peers into the bag to find that Kurt brought a cheese Danish for her. It has twice the amount of calories she usually allows herself to eat in a _day_ , but it’s her favorite hangover food and she feels somewhat appeased about the rude awakening. Jonathan sits across from her at the table and sips at his tea while Kurt continues to badger Rachel.

“I can’t believe I had to hear about your audition from my boyfriend!”

Cassandra hears Rachel mumble from under the covers where she’s trying to hide from him, but he starts smacking her with a pillow.

“Kurt, stop that,” Rachel snaps, rolling out of bed to get away from him.

“Oh my God, put some clothes on!” Kurt says, covering his eyes dramatically. Cassandra smirks.

Rachel’s glare is interrupted as she pulls a shirt down over her face. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she says once she’s properly covered.

“That doesn’t mean I want to see it again,” Kurt says.

Rachel ignores him and walks over to the table, running a hand through her spectacularly messy hair. She dips her head down to give Cassandra a small kiss and then plops miserably into the chair next to her, grabbing the other coffee that Kurt brought for them. Kurt sits primly in the chair across from Rachel, leveling her with an expectant look.

“What?” she asks finally when she catches him staring at her over her coffee.

“Well? Spill! Tell me everything.”

“I thought you already told him about it,” Cassandra says to Jonathan, who shrugs helplessly.

“It’s not the same,” Kurt insists. “A director approached you and asked you to audition for the lead role in an actual Broadway show. This could be the moment you’ve been waiting for since you clawed your way out of Shelby’s womb and belted out your first note. Why aren’t you more excited? And why didn’t you call me immediately? Rachel Berry, I am ashamed of you.”

Rachel blinks stupidly for a second as if she thought last night was a dream, and then a brilliant smile blooms across her face.

“Oh my God, you’re right,” she says. “You’re right! I can’t believe that actually happened!”

Kurt squeals like an excited puppy, and suddenly he’s around the table, holding hands with Rachel while they both jump up and down and squawk and jabber in an indistinguishable language. Cassandra feels a pang of nostalgia and tries to swallow it down with a giant gulp of coffee. She rolls her eyes at Jonathan, who smiles affectionately at Rachel and Kurt.

Cassandra has her fill of it when the three of them break out into a rendition of _I’m the Greatest Star_ and stalks off to take a very long shower.

xx

She comes home on a Wednesday and is immediately greeted by the sound of barking and a snuffling nose at her feet. She looks down to find a scruffy little dog, only about as high as her shins, with scraggly grey fur and a brown mustache of sorts. The dog barks again and jumps up on her legs, panting hot breath and scratching her skin.

"Sondheim, no! Bad dog! Get down!" Rachel says in her best scolding voice. Cassandra looks up at her blankly while the dog completely ignores Rachel.

"Schwimmer," she says slowly. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a dog!" Rachel says as she runs over to gently ease him off of Cassandra's legs.

"But why is it in our house?"

Rachel finally decides to just pick the dog up. She wrinkles her nose at the smell of him, and when Cassandra catches a whiff, she coughs and covers her nose.

"I met Brittany for lunch today, and on my way back this little guy ran up to me in the subway. I could just imagine him living off of scraps, freezing at night, barely surviving. I couldn't just leave him," she explains.

Cassandra looks at her incredulously. "Uh, yes you could. You could have left him down there just like the thousands of other people he's probably managed to con out of food. He doesn't exactly look like he's starving, Schwimmer."

"Look at him, Cassie," Rachel says with a pout, turning his face towards her. "He's so sweet. How could anyone leave this poor baby all alone down there?"

"We are not keeping that dog," Cassandra says firmly, throwing her bag on the couch and stepping around them. "The last thing we need is a smelly mutt drooling and chewing and pissing all over the apartment."

"He would never do that! Would you, Sondheim?" Rachel asks the dog in a baby voice. He barks and Rachel laughs. Cassandra spins around to glare at them.

"You're insane. Get that dog out of here."

Rachel gently lowers the dog to the floor.

"Where am I supposed to put him, Cassie?" she asks.

"I don't care where you put him, Schwimmer," Cassandra says as she walks over to pour herself a large glass of wine. "Put him back in the subway where you found him. Take him to the Humane Society. Show him down to the front door and let him run free if you want. Just get him out of here."

Rachel stands with her hands on her hips, expression set in a petulant glare.

“Cassandra July, I am not letting that dog loose in the wild to fend for himself.”

“For fuck’s sake, Schwimmer, it’s New York City, not the Amazon,” Cassandra growls. She hates it when Rachel uses her full name like she’s a child.

“I can’t even believe you would suggest it!”

“And I can’t believe you would bring a dog home without talking to me about it first!” Cassandra says angrily, setting her wine glass down hard enough that the red liquid sloshes out onto the counter.

“Because I knew you would say no!” Rachel yells.

“Well maybe that should have been an indication that you should rethink your idiotic plan, _Rachel_!” Cassandra replies.

Sondheim lies on the floor between them looking forlorn, and the fact that they’re screaming over a stray dog is completely ridiculous, but neither of them seems to be concerned about that now.

“You are so insufferable sometimes!” Rachel says, her voice reaching a level of hysteria that Cassandra should probably be concerned about. 

It reminds her of years ago, during Rachel’s freshman year at NYADA when they would get into it in front of the entire class in the dance studio. She thinks even then a part of her knew that they would end up stupidly in love with each other, even though she tried her hardest to stop that from happening.

“I can’t do this right now,” Rachel says finally, fists bunched up at her sides. “My audition is in a few days and I need to save my strength.”

Cassandra grits her teeth at that. Rachel turns and walks for the door.

“Where are you going?” Cassandra asks through her teeth.

“To Kurt’s,” Rachel says. She doesn’t turn around as she opens the door.

“Take the fucking—” the apartment door slams shut “—dog,” Cassandra finishes lamely.

Sondheim whines and cocks his head at her. Cassandra huffs and drains her wine glass in one gulp.

xx

She feels something wet on her nose, and for a moment she thinks that this might be Rachel’s kinky way of apologizing. But then she smells a mixture of dog breath and sewer and cracks one eye open to find Sondheim with his paws up on the side of the bed, licking her face and panting his gross, hot breath. Cassandra groans and swats at him. She’s still drunk from the four glasses of wine she downed after Rachel stormed out and she doesn’t have the energy to fight the dirty mongrel off.

Sondheim barks and leaps up onto the bed, walking right over top of her to snuggle into her side. He smells foul, but she’s already falling asleep again, so the dog stays and falls asleep beside her.

xx

Rachel comes home just after midnight, half afraid of what she’ll find (or won’t find, more than likely). But she hears soft snoring coming from the bed and creeps over to find Cassie fast asleep, one arm thrown over Sondheim, whose head pops up to look at her when she approaches. Rachel can’t help but grin at the sight, even if the empty wine glass on the nightstand is indication that Cassie didn’t end up in this situation while sober.

She quickly changes into an oversized t-shirt and gets ready for bed before gently extricating Sondheim from Cassie’s heavy grasp and setting him down on the floor. He whines and Rachel shushes him, climbing into bed beside Cassie. She leans over to kiss her on the cheek and take the dog’s place at her side. She wrinkles her nose at the smell, made even worse by the stench of alcohol on Cassie’s breath. They’re going to have to bathe the dog and wash their sheets in the morning.

Cassie sighs when Rachel puts an arm around her.

“Hi Schwimmer,” she mumbles sleepily.

“Hi,” Rachel whispers.

“You’re giving that dog a bath in the morning.”

“Does that mean we can keep him?” Rachel asks with a smirk.

“We’ll see,” Cassie says, and then she’s asleep again.

Rachel settles into her side with a smile. When Sondheim jumps up to lie at her feet a few minutes later, she lets him stay there.

xx

Rachel gets a callback for _Gone with the Wind_ and loses her fucking mind about it. She starts getting up at 5 a.m. every day for an extended workout routine. At 6 she enlists Cassandra’s help with ab workouts, and then gets in the shower for at least half an hour. She brews a gigantic cup of some horrible tea that smells like warthog breath and then spends the rest of her day rehearsing with Kurt if he’s not working, or in the dance studio with Cassandra when she doesn’t have a class. If she’s not perfecting her audition song or running her lines, Rachel refuses to speak to anyone so as not to put unnecessary strain on her vocal cords. She walks around with a dry erase board and has taken to using some bastardized form of ASL that she learned on YouTube.

Cassandra basically wants to strangle her by the end of the second day of this. Rachel gets two more callbacks over the span of three weeks.

Rachel being so wrapped up in her auditions means that Cassandra gets stuck looking after and taking care of Sondheim the majority of the time. He gets up in the morning as soon as Rachel does and refuses to go back to sleep; instead he sits there and barks at Rachel on the elliptical until Cassandra finally rolls out of bed to take him down for a short walk. She just happens to have a two-hour break between classes in the afternoon for lunch, so she has to run all the way back to the loft to let him out again and down a quick smoothie (which is more alcohol than actual fruit).

Sondheim (and Cassandra still can’t fucking believe Rachel named him that. Or she can; she just can’t believe she’s dating someone who would name their stray subway mutt after Stephen Sondheim) has a habit of chewing things when they’re at work. Cassandra comes home on her lunch one day to find half a roll of toilet paper shredded across the apartment. It takes every ounce of self-control she has not to drop kick the dog all the way to Hoboken. 

They start shutting the bathroom door in the mornings, but Sondheim just digs in the kitchen trash instead. When they put the trashcan up where he can’t reach it, he takes a liking to Cassandra’s shoes. Only Cassandra’s shoes. Rachel’s remain untouched, even though they’re scattered across the bedroom area like the remnants of a Black Friday sale at Macy’s. Cassandra bitches at Rachel about the destruction, but her girlfriend is completely unconcerned with anything that doesn’t revolve around her auditions.

When Cassandra catches the dog with one of her Louboutins hanging out of his mouth, she completely loses it.

“I swear to Christ Almighty, Schwimmer, if that fucking dog puts his mouth on one more of my things, I’m going to cook him up and feed him to the pigeons in Central Park!” she yells.

Rachel looks appalled and scrawls angrily across her dry erase board in her third-grade handwriting before holding it up for Cassandra to see.

_Don’t say things like that! He can hear you, you know._

“Good,” Cassandra growls rabidly, turning on Sondheim, who pins his ears back in shame. “If you value your life, you will keep your filthy paws away from my shit.”

Sondheim whines and Rachel glares at her. Cassandra ignores them both and mixes up a vodka cranberry.

The next day, Rachel takes time out of her busy schedule to stop at the store and pick up several chew toys for Sondheim, including a monkey-shaped stuffed animal that he takes to carrying around with him at all times. Cassandra thinks it’s ridiculous, and the thing gets slimy and disgusting within a week, but at least he doesn’t go near her shoes anymore.

xx

The call comes in on a Wednesday.

Cassandra is busy scrolling through playlists on her laptop, trying to find the perfect songs to create a new dance routine to. She barely registers Rachel answering the phone in the back of her mind, but when she hears the way that Rachel’s breath catches and her voice chokes up for the remainder of the conversation, she knows. Cassandra knows what it sounds like when someone lands the part of their dreams, and she doesn’t need to see Rachel’s round, wet eyes or feel the hot tears on her neck to confirm it, but she gets them both anyway.

“I got the part,” Rachel sobs into her shoulder. Cassandra can barely find the strength to bring her arms up and lock them around Rachel’s waist, but eventually she manages. She feels sick. She wants to push Rachel away and down a bottle of something that will burn when she swallows it.

Some semblance of her humanity must kick in, because she finally squeezes Rachel tight and kisses her hair, whispers congratulations into her ear like she means them. It feels like an out of body experience, like she’s watching someone else be happy for her girlfriend while she sits back and swallows jealousy and panic and bile like a handful of bitter pills.

Rachel pulls away and wipes at her eyes, laughing at herself as she does so. She looks like she’s eighteen again, and for a second Cassandra catches a glimpse of that infuriating freshman girl with whom she fell so hopelessly in love, and she wants to slap herself for how disgustingly selfish she’s being. But then Rachel starts walking away while she rattling off a list of people she has to call and all of the things she’ll have to do to prepare, and the sickness slams back into Cassandra’s chest like a bullet.

She grabs Sondheim’s leash and mutters that she’s going to take him out for a walk. Rachel is already on the phone with one of her fathers (or both of them, by the sound of it), and she waves absently to acknowledge that she’s heard. 

Cassandra takes her time walking the dog, a look of such misery on her face that every bright-toothed man that would normally flash a smile as she passes by looks the other way instead. She stops at an outdoor café to down a gin and tonic and takes a bottle of champagne back to the apartment with her. 

Rachel is still on the phone when she gets back, this time with Kurt or someone else from school by the sounds of it, and if she notices that it took Cassandra nearly an hour just to walk the dog or tastes the alcohol already on Cassandra’s lips when they kiss, she doesn’t say anything about it.

xx

It’s actually a relief when _Gone With the Wind_ rehearsals start because Rachel is now occupied from sunup to sundown and Cassandra has classes to worry about, and by the time Rachel gets home every night she’s too exhausted to talk about anything and Cassandra is always drunk enough that they both end up passing out without much more than a goodnight kiss.

Cassandra thinks that she’s probably never been a better teacher than she is this semester. Dance has always been an escape for her, a way to shut out the rest of the world and all of the nasty thoughts that plague her mind otherwise. She focuses intently on her lesson plans, on whipping her students into shape in a way that she never has before. She is harsh, as hard as she ever was when Rachel was a freshman, and all of her students probably dream up ways to kill her in their spare time, but she can see them improving day by day, and they will thank her for it in the end.

After class, she dances. There is still nothing in the world quite so peaceful as an empty studio echoing only with the sounds of the stereo, her footsteps, and heavy breath. She loses herself in it, in the feeling of weightlessness that comes as she glides across the polished floor. Her body is so in tune with the music that it stops automatically when the song ends. She comes to a halt in the middle of the room, realizing only then that she is no longer alone and probably hasn’t been for several minutes.

Rachel stands leaning against the doorway, a soft smile on her lips as she watches Cassandra’s chest rise and fall with accelerated breaths. Cassandra feels her skin prickling with sweat, with the weight of Rachel’s gaze.

“I almost forgot how incredible it is to watch you dance,” Rachel says, pushing off of the wall to collapse onto the piano bench a few feet away. “It’s like a religious experience. A very sexy religious experience.”

Despite all of the inner turmoil that resurfaces at the sight of her, Cassandra still finds herself inexplicably drawn to her girlfriend. She moves to sit beside her on the bench. Rachel looks exhausted in her gray NYADA sweatpants, hair pulled up in a messy bun and dark circles under her eyes. Cassandra feels the smallest pang of pity for her before quickly shutting it down. This is what Rachel wanted. The life of a rising star doesn’t come without consequences.

“What are you doing here, Schwimmer? Shouldn’t you be at rehearsal?” Cassandra finally asks.

“It’s been cancelled for the rest of the day. Our Melanie slipped on the stairs in the subway and broke her leg,” Rachel explains. The fact that she’s able to do so with very little dramatic flair is a testament to how tired she must be.

Cassandra raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a backup?”

“No,” Rachel says, shaking her head. “They’re holding open auditions this weekend.” She pauses, looking at Cassandra with an intent that makes her insides twist with dread. “Cassie, I think you should try out.”

Cassandra is out of her seat in a flash. She moves to stand in front of the mirror and begins stretching to keep herself busy, to prevent herself from having to look Rachel in the eye.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Schwim,” she says with forced nonchalance. “I think I’m long past the point of playing a teenage plantation wife.”

Rachel bites her bottom lip in a way that means she’s about to say something she knows will piss Cassandra off and says, “Are you sure? Because I already got Jacob to agree to give you an advance audition before the public ones start.”

Cassandra swears that her eyes are going to pop right out of their sockets and bounce off of the mirror in front of her.

“ _What?_ ” she hisses, whirling around to stare at Rachel with something that looks a lot like murder.

“I know I probably should have talked to you about it first,” Rachel says hurriedly, ignoring Cassandra’s incredulous scoff, “but I thought it could be a surprise.” She’s talking with her hands, which she only ever does when she’s trying to talk her way out of something stupid.

“Yes, a big, unwelcome surprise, Rachel,” Cassandra seethes.

“Cassie, I know you like to pretend that it doesn’t matter to you anymore, but acting is still important. The Broadway dream is still in there somewhere.” She crosses the room and gently pries Cassandra’s arms apart from where they’re crossed under her chest, holding her hands while she gazes up at her. “I know you. I know you would be amazing if you’d just give them a chance to see what you can do. You’re a star, Cassie. You’re meant to be up there on that stage.”

The way Rachel says it, like she truly believes the words falling out of her own mouth and she’s not just trying to save herself from Cassandra’s wrath—it actually does something to calm the anger raging behind Cassandra’s ribcage. Rachel is not the type of person to jeopardize her career for someone else, no matter how much she loves them. If she did this, it’s because she really thinks Cassandra has a chance of making the part. Cassandra can’t remember the last time someone believed in her that much.

She exhales through her nose and squeezes Rachel’s hands. 

“Alright, Schwimmer,” she agrees uneasily. 

Rachel beams and drops Cassandra’s hands to sprint over to her bag, from which she pulls a rolled up script.

“We have to start rehearsing right now! I have the perfect scene for you. And then we can pick out your audition song!”

Cassandra instantly regrets her decision to go along with this psychotic scheme, but she swallows her panic and allows Rachel to pull her into it anyway.

xx

They practice to the point of exhaustion over the next few days. Rachel is relentless in ensuring that Cassandra has her part down. She’s pretty sure that she could recite her monologue in her sleep, thinks she probably has done in the few hours of sleep she’s managed to get.

When Thursday afternoon finally rolls around, Cassandra is tired and on edge. Rachel has to be at the theatre already for some kind of fitting, and maybe if she were here, she could reassure Cassandra into thinking that this might actually be a good idea. As it is, she taps her foot with irritation for the entire subway ride and almost snaps this little string bean of a teenage punk in half because he’s blasting the most hideous music Cassandra’s ever heard through his headphones right beside her.

She finally disembarks the train and walks the two blocks to the theatre, trying to let the din of the city drown out her increasingly destructive thoughts, but to no avail. She hesitates in front of the door, where there are _Gone With the Wind_ posters plastered over every available surface. Rachel and her co-star Lucas, who plays Rhett, are the main focus of the posters. They are accompanied by two other faces, who Cassandra assumes are Ashley and Melanie. She stares long and hard at the girl who was originally cast to play the part that she’s about to audition for, a pretty blonde girl who can barely be legal. Cassandra almost turns around then and walks away, but she tells herself to suck it up and walks in.

Just inside the doors, it all falls apart. She’s standing at the back of the auditorium, and she can already see Jacob from here, as well as a man who looks like he’s doing a horrendous impression of Fabio. 

Rachel is down there, too, for some ungodly reason. She’s probably hoping to lend Cassandra support and encouragement, but all it does is remind her that she was pretty much strong-armed into this disaster by her overly ambitious girlfriend who doesn’t know how to mind her own fucking business, and the stage is too big and too empty and the lights are too bright. It all reminds Cassandra too much of the multitude of directors who basically laughed at her every time she auditioned after _Damn Yankees_ and told her they wouldn’t cast her if she was the only actress left in all of New York.

The panic bubbles up in her chest and bursts behind her lungs. She feels her throat constrict and her vision blur, and she turns around and pushes her way out of the theatre before anyone can realize she’s there. She stumbles down the block, and the further she gets, the better she feels. The panic slowly subsides until she can breathe normally again, but she keeps walking like she’s got somewhere to be. She doesn’t even know where she’s going, just lets her feet lead her as far away as they can, until she finally looks up and sees a bartender staring at her, clearly expecting her to order.

“Whatever’s strong,” she says, and falls onto a bar stool.

xx

Rachel has been humiliated many times in her short life by a multitude of people, including the majority of her current best friends. It’s a feeling that she’s acquainted with and has learned how to swallow with grace in all but the most horrific situations. So when she and the producer and director of the show sit there for over an hour waiting for Cassie to show up, while Rachel calls her phone a hundred times and makes hasty, embarrassed apologies and excuses for her girlfriend, it’s not the humiliation that gets to her. It’s the gut-wrenching, heartbreaking disappointment.

She can’t remember feeling this let down in her entire life. Not after the anti-climactic culmination of her so-called everlasting love with Finn. Not when she choked during her first NYADA audition with Carmen. Not even after Shelby stumbled into her life and then stumbled back out with Quinn’s baby in tow. What Cassie did today has brought her to a whole new understanding of the words “let down”.

She waits back at the loft for hours, pacing back and forth until the finish in the hardwood starts to wear down, until Sondheim gets bored of watching her and falls asleep on top of his monkey toy. All of her friends have been alerted and are on the lookout, even Quinn, who snarked that she would be sure to peek inside of every bar she passed on her way home from work. Rachel chastised her and received an emoji in reply that told her that Quinn was sorry, if only a little bit. Cassie’s voicemail is long full of the messages Rachel’s left for her throughout the day, but that doesn’t stop her from hitting the redial button every ten seconds.

It’s well past seven by the time the door finally rattles open and Cassie comes falling through it. It’s clear that Quinn’s comment was well deserved—Rachel hasn’t seen Cassie this drunk in a very long time. Sondheim jumps up at the sound and runs to greet her. Cassie almost trips over him and Rachel rolls her eyes.

“Damn dog,” Cassie mutters, but leans down to pet his head affectionately anyway. 

She has to steady herself on the arm of the couch to keep from falling over while she straightens back up. She finally notices Rachel standing there, but is apparently oblivious to her crossed arms and furious expression. Cassie grins slowly and starts making her way towards her girlfriend.

“Hey, Schwimmer,” she says, and leans in for a kiss. Rachel backs away and glares at her with dark eyes.

“Hey? _Hey?_ Is that seriously all you have to say to me after what you did today?” Rachel snaps. 

She can already feel her voice rising in pitch, and this is not going to be good for her vocal cords, but she can’t stop the anger rising in the back of her throat. Cassie sighs and takes a step back. Her eyes are unfocused, and Rachel already knows this conversation is not going to be productive. She hates trying to talk to Cassie when she’s drunk.

“Come on, Schwimmer. You knew this was a bad idea from the start. There’s no place for me on the stage anymore. I’m done with that life,” she says tiredly.

“Yeah, I guess there isn’t a place on the stage for you when you run away to drown yourself in alcohol every time you get scared,” Rachel says. “You’d probably fall off of it anyway.”

“Clever, Rachel,” Cassie replies disinterestedly. “Your comebacks have gotten much better over the years.”

She starts walking towards the bathroom, leaving Rachel seething in the living room. Rachel huffs and follows a few seconds later, standing in the doorway of the bathroom to find Cassie swallowing a handful of aspirin.

“Why did you just let me sit there waiting for you like a fool, worrying that something had happened to you?” Rachel finally asks. “Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to do it? I could have called it off.”

“I told you I didn’t want to do it from the start,” Cassie says, washing the pills back with a glass of water and rinsing her mouth out.

“But then you agreed to it,” Rachel argues. “You rehearsed with me. You didn’t tell me you were worried or scared. You never said you wanted to back out.”

Cassie looks up at her now, and her gaze is suddenly piercing and very clear.

“Would you have even listened if I had?” she asks.

Rachel’s mouth snaps shut and Cassie lowers her gaze. She steps past Rachel out of the bathroom and crawls into bed, clothes and all. Rachel can do nothing but stare.

xx

They avoid the subject, for the most part, which is not Rachel’s strong suit, really. If anything, she is prone to confrontation, adept at getting to the bottom of a conflict, preferably through the use of a stirring musical number to start a dialogue, until things can finally be worked out. But she’s so busy that she barely has time to see her girlfriend, let alone talk about things that Cassie is clearly content to ignore, so they don’t. 

As one part of Rachel’s life comes together, she can feel the other slipping apart, but she is powerless to do anything about it. Some days, it seems like she hardly recognizes Cassie anymore. Or she does recognize her, but it’s like a horrid flashback, the ghost of Cassie from several years ago when they first met and she was an embittered bully soaking herself in alcohol to try to make the pain go away. It’s a far cry from the cynical, yet caring woman with whom Rachel fell in love and intended to spend the rest of her life.

Rachel spends most of her free time with Brody and Quinn, Brittany and Santana, or Kurt and Jonathan. It usually only serves to remind her that she used to hang out with these couples as part of a couple, too, but since she landed this role, it just feels like she’s sacrificing one dream for another. It certainly helps her get into character. Scarlett ended up much the same way that she feels right now. Even when she and Cassie are together, they might as well be on separate planets for as much as they interact. It seems like Cassie is always drinking and Rachel is always rehearsing and it feels like living with a stranger. She’s never felt more lonely. She hasn’t the slightest idea how to change it.

xx

It’s a Saturday, and Cassie is revising one of her dance lessons while Rachel reads over her lines for the millionth time. Cassie’s phone rings, interrupting the silence that’s settled over them for the past few weeks. She looks at it quizzically, like she doesn’t recognize the number, and then finally answers it just before it goes to voicemail. Rachel is too curious to give her any privacy—she watches with rapt attention as Cassie’s face morphs into a snarl.

“I don’t know how the hell you got my number, but you need to lose it,” she growls. “Don’t fucking call me again.”

She hangs up and slams her phone down, almost hard enough to crack it. Rachel is almost too afraid to ask who it was, Cassie is seething so much. Almost.

“Who was that?” she asks carefully, and Cassie grits her teeth.

“My bitch sister,” she finally responds.

She gets up to pour some Kahlua in her coffee, which makes Rachel want to roll her eyes, because she wonders if there isn’t a single frustration in Cassie’s life that isn’t solved with alcohol these days.

“Did she say what she wanted?” Rachel probes.

“I didn’t give her the chance,” Cassie says with a finality that lets Rachel know that the subject needs to be dropped.

Rachel sighs. “Well, are you okay?”

Cassie’s response is an ugly smirk.

“Just fine, Schwimmer,” she says, and takes a lengthy gulp of her spiked coffee.

xx

Cassie’s sister continues to call over the next few days, so much so that Cassie programs the number in her phone as “Evil Bitch Monster of Death”, which Rachel finds slightly amusing if completely unnecessary. She tries to convince Cassie to talk to her sister, since it might actually be important.

“I’m not interested in anything she has to say to me, Schwimmer,” Cassie says, and that’s the end of the conversation.

But the calls keep coming, and Rachel really doesn’t know what could be so important. Both of Cassie’s parents are dead and they don’t have any other siblings that she knows of. Maybe her sister is really sick and she wants to reconcile before the worst comes to pass. Maybe she’s in trouble and really needs help. Maybe she just wants to reconnect after all of this time. 

Whatever it is, Rachel can’t help but think of her own relationship with Shelby, which is warmer now that Shelby has moved back to New York. Rachel goes to Shelby when she needs advice sometimes and she’s even spent time with Shelby and Beth, getting to know her little sister. It was hard at first, but it’s much better now and Rachel knows that if anything ever happened to Shelby, she would have regretted never making the effort to get to know her mom and become friends with her for the rest of her life.

So that’s the rationale she uses when Cassie is in the shower one day and her phone rings, and when Rachel sees the Evil Bitch Monster of Death flash across the screen, she answers it.

There’s silence at first, either because Cassie’s sister is so surprised that someone answered her or because she doesn’t recognize the voice.

“Can I please speak to Cassandra July?” she asks, and she sounds nothing like Cassie at all. Her voice is higher, more reserved.

“I’m sorry, she’s not available right now. This is her girlfriend, Rachel. It’s…Melissa, right?”

“That’s right,” Melissa says hesitantly. “Does Cassandra know you’re talking to me?”

“No, and I probably don’t have much time before she finds out, so you should probably tell me what’s so important that you’ve been calling every day for the past week despite the fact that Cassie has made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t want to speak to you,” Rachel replies.

“I need to talk to her about our parents’ house. We own it fifty-fifty since they died and I’d like to discuss it with her.”

Rachel sighs. It’s not what she was hoping for, and it’s definitely going to be a sore subject, but maybe just getting them in the same room together will be half the battle and some good can come out of this anyway. Against every voice of better judgement screaming at her not to, she rattles off the address of their apartment.

“I can’t promise anything, but it’s the only chance you’ll have of even getting to speak to her, so if it’s really that important to you, I’d suggest you buy a plane ticket soon,” Rachel says as she hears the water turning off in the bathroom.

“Thank you,” Melissa says, and it sounds enough like relief that Rachel hopes she made the right decision.

She hangs up just as Cassie emerges from the bathroom fully naked, running a towel through her hair. Their relationship may be strained lately, but the sight of Cassie’s body still does things to Rachel that make her feel like a horny teenager, so she pulls Cassie onto the bed and tries not to think about the fact that she may have just made a huge mistake.

xx

Cassandra’s phone stops ringing, which means that Melissa must have finally taken the hint and fucked off. That thought puts a little bounce in her step, so the next time Rachel has a day off from rehearsals, she picks up a bottle of wine while walking Sondheim. Any day that she can ply Rachel with alcohol is a good day. At least if Rachel is drunk, she can’t really glance at Cassandra disapprovingly every time she fills up her glass.

When she opens the door, she finds that Rachel is not alone, and the recognition of exactly who is sitting at their kitchen table is nearly enough to make her drop the wine and shatter it all over the living room floor.

Melissa looks almost the same as she did the last time Cassandra saw her, some eleven years ago at their parents’ funeral. She’s older, definitely, but just as infuriatingly put together and as bitchy as she always was. If the look on her face is any indication, she still has the same stick shoved up her ass, too. She almost reminds Cassandra of Quinn, only Quinn is far prettier than Melissa is and vastly less insufferable.

She glances at Rachel, who looks like she’s deathly afraid that Cassandra is going to fly across the room and murder them both. She’s definitely considering it.

“What are you doing here?” Cassandra asks, and the tone of her voice is enough to make Rachel turn white as a sheet. Melissa remains unimpressed, however.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls, so I had to take the less pleasant approach,” she says. “Believe me when I say that I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here.”

“Then feel free to leave,” Cassandra offers, walking over to set the wine on the counter much harder than necessary. “Now.”

Rachel flinches and Sondheim whines, cowering behind the couch.

“I’m not leaving until you hear what I have to say,” Melissa insists, crossing her arms over her chest and adopting a superior expression on her face that makes Cassandra want to throw knives at her head. “Mom and Dad’s house has been sitting empty for over eleven years now and I want to sell it. The upkeep on it is an unnecessary expense and God knows you’re not doing anything to help out.”

Cassandra sneers. “What’s wrong, sis? Life not as perfect as you like to pretend? Is your boring husband having trouble bringing home enough bacon to feed your vapid ass?”

“Not all of us can be fortunate enough to make a living off of being drunken, talentless basket cases, Cassandra,” Melissa retorts.

Rachel gapes like the can’t believe they’re actually talking to each other like this, but Cassandra only sees red. Who the fuck does this woman think she is, coming to Cassandra’s home, asking to sell her parents’ house like it’s nothing but a burden, and having the audacity to speak to Cassandra this way? She has a vision of picking up the wine bottle and smashing it over Melissa’s head until the light fades from her eyes, but it’s much more satisfying to simply snarl and deny her what she wants.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” she says quietly, and it’s laced with a threat.

Melissa scoffs and shakes her head. She stands and collects her purse from the table, walks right past Cassandra on her way to the door and stops.

“I should have known you hadn’t changed. You’re still as selfish and self-absorbed as ever.” She tosses a look at Rachel. “You must be just as crazy as she is to put up with her.”

The door slams shut behind her when she leaves.

The silence is deafening afterwards. Cassandra’s heart is beating so hard with rage that she wonders if she isn’t going to have a stroke.

“Cassie,” Rachel whispers, and Cassandra wishes she wouldn’t speak at all because she’s so angry she’s going to snap and Rachel is going to get hurt.

She whirls around and rips the wine out of the bag, unscrewing the cork furiously.

“Cassie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was that bad. Please look at me,” Rachel implores desperately.

Cassandra slams her wine glass down so hard she swears the stem cracks. She pour the glass to the brim and drains it in one gulp, doesn’t even set it down to pour another.

“Cassie,” Rachel says again, closer this time, and then her hand is closing around Cassandra’s arm and she explodes.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” she screams, and Rachel shrinks away from her in fear, but she doesn’t care. “Are you really that fucking dense, or are you just so egotistical that you can’t take no for an answer? You knew that I didn’t want to talk to her, and yet you still went behind my back and invited her into _my home_. What the hell did you think was going to happen? What in the ever loving fuck made you think you had the right?”

There are tears trailing down Rachel’s cheeks, and she knows she’s way out of line speaking to Rachel like this, but she can’t stop herself and she doesn’t care anymore.

“I just thought...” Rachel says shakily, but Cassandra cuts her off.

“What, Rachel? What did you think? Did you think I was lying when I said my sister and I hated each other? Did you think it was all a joke and I’d come home and find her here and we’d have a big happy family reunion and we’d laugh about it all? Did you think I’d be grateful that you decided to make me your pet project again—your poor, pitiful, washed up girlfriend who walks around like some kind of miserable tragedy? This isn’t one of your stage plays, Rachel, this is my fucking _life_ , and I wish you’d stay the fuck out of it.”

Rachel’s back straightens immediately and her face hardens despite her tears.

“ _Your_ life,” she says quietly. “I thought it was _our_ life. Obviously I was mistaken and I’ve been deluding myself for the past four years thinking we were building a life together.” She laughs humorlessly and looks like she’s never been so disappointed in someone in her entire life. “I’m leaving. Enjoy your life.”

Cassandra thinks that she could stop her, pull her back in and apologize, take back everything she said and promise to be better. She could. But her head is still clouded with fury and wine, and watching Rachel walk away right now is more of a relief than making her stay. The sound of the door closing behind her feels hopelessly final, but Cassandra can’t bring herself to care. Rachel doesn’t even have the courtesy to take the dog.

xx

The next few days pass by in a haze. Cassandra takes some personal time from work and drinks until she’s folded over the toilet and can’t remember her own name. She gets a few texts from Kurt asking what the hell happened and some calls from Brody to see if she’s okay until he leaves a final desperate one asking to at least let him know that she’s still alive. She deletes them all and doesn’t respond. There are no messages from Rachel at all. She pretends not to care.

There’s an insistent pounding at her door around 2pm that wakes her up from where she’s passed out on the couch. She has no idea what day it is, but her head is pounding and it’s putting her in a foul mood already. She wrenches the door open to find Quinn, of all people, looking prim and proper and perfectly pissed off.

“What?” Cassandra asks rudely. Quinn wrinkles her nose in distaste.

“You smell like a distillery,” she replies.

“Is that all?” Cassandra says with disinterest.

“No,” Quinn says coldly. “What the hell did you do to her?”

“Why don’t you keep your nose job where it belongs, Princess? Stay out of my business.”

Quinn doesn’t even try to conceal her disgust.

“I knew you were going to hurt her,” she says with a sneer. “I knew you were never good enough for her. You’re the kind of person who ruins everything they touch. I can’t believe it took this long to get her to see how much of a disappointment you are.”

Cassandra barely resists the urge to slap her, because that would mean admitting that Quinn’s words actually hit a nerve—a very deep and painful nerve—and she won’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, she remains impassive.

“Great. Now that you’ve gotten that out, maybe you can leave me the hell alone, you sanctimonious little shit. Or should I bring out the laundry list of all the nasty things you’ve done to Rachel over the years?” she asks sweetly.

Quinn smirks, and with one last disparaging glance, she leaves. Her point has been made anyway. Cassandra knows everything she said is true, and has always been.

xx

The weeks go by and life is almost like it was four and a half years ago, before Rachel ever showed up with her loud mouth and her endless optimism and flipped Cassandra’s world upside down. She’s older now and she drinks more than she did even back then, but this is a life that is bitterly familiar and it’s not even hard to slip back into it. It’s the life she deserves, and she almost hates Rachel for making her believe any differently for as long as she did.

Everyone gives up on her in the end. She told Rachel as much once before, and Rachel swore she never would, but that was a lie. Rachel wanted to fix her, and now that Cassandra has proven she can’t be fixed, that there's nothing left to fix, the last person who ever believed in her is gone. The only person she has left is Sondheim, and he’s not even a person. The only reason he’s even happy to see her every day is because he depends on her for food and water. But it’s nice to pretend that he loves her beyond his basic primal needs some days, and he keeps her bed warm, so she lets him stay.

She wonders how Rachel is doing, if she’s moved on already or even misses Cassandra at all. She knows she could just ask Brody, but she can’t even bring herself to do that because he’ll just try to convince her that she should try to work it out with Rachel, and that’s not an option. The things she said to Rachel, well-founded as they were at the time, were inexcusable. And to be honest, she’s still a little angry for the way Rachel went behind her back all of those times. Melissa, the part in the musical, even the fucking dog—Rachel kept making decisions without her and in spite of her no matter how many times she warned her to back off. Rachel was angry because Cassandra called it “her” life instead of “theirs”, but it hadn’t been their life for quite a while. Maybe it was always Rachel’s life to begin with.

This is better for everyone, she thinks. Especially Rachel, who is going to hit it big with this show of hers and doesn’t need Cassandra dragging her down. It’s really easy to convince herself of that when she’s halfway into a bottle of vodka and Rachel is nowhere in sight.

xx

She runs into Kurt at the coffee shop in between her classes. It’s the first time she’s seen him since Rachel left, and he raises his eyebrow at her over his sunglasses.

“You look terrible,” he says blithely.

“And you look like a closeted quarterback’s newest plaything,” she bites, but she knows he’s right. She’s seen the circles under her own eyes and her complexion looks like shit. She hardly even bothers with makeup these days.

Cassandra has half a mind to ask him how Rachel’s doing, but the words get lost in her throat and she just turns around to leave.

“She still cries about it, you know,” he calls after her, and her blood freezes in her veins. “She won’t tell me what happened, but she cries at night when she thinks I can’t hear her and she walks around like a zombie who lost half of its body to a machete. I don’t know if she really should, but she misses you.”

She blinks back tears and swallows the lump in her throat, turns around and stalks towards him while he stares at her with alarm. She grabs his head in her hands and kisses him soundly on the lips. He splutters a little in disbelief when she pulls away.

“Give that to her for me and tell her not to,” she says thickly. “There are more important things to miss than me.”

Kurt gapes at her while she walks away, but she doesn’t turn back.

xx

There was a time in her life when Cassandra couldn’t stand to be away from Rachel Berry for one week without having a meltdown. Now it’s been two months, and while she definitely isn’t sane, she isn’t dead, either. Her students are paying dearly for this turbulent time in her life, she knows, but they are also outperforming every other class she’s ever had, so she doesn’t really give a shit about their feelings. Carmen asks her if she’s doing okay, looking at her like she knows what happened, and Cassandra grits her teeth and tells her she’s fine in a tone that really means she should fuck off.

She reads in passing that Rachel’s production has found a replacement Melanie—some bimbo from England, apparently—but the opening night had to be pushed back several months to accommodate that and a few other small issues. It’s just as well. She thinks summer is a shit time to open a show.

She gets a text one night, and when she sees that it’s from Rachel, she considers ignoring it, because that’s a gaping wound she doesn’t need to widen. Curiosity and desperation get the better of her, though, and she opens the message.

 _I hope you’re doing alright,_ it says, and the words strike her in the chest like a ton of bricks.

 _Don’t worry about me, Schwimmer. I’ve got the durability of a cockroach. Take care of yourself,_ she texts back.

The response is immediate.

_I got your message from Kurt. You are worth missing, and worth loving, whether you believe it or not._

Cassandra can barely choke back her sob, because the fact that Rachel still cares about her enough to send that kind of message is devastating. She doesn’t respond, but she does get totally off her tits wasted.

xx

She wakes to the sound of Sondheim barking and scratching at the door, which means he has to go out. Her head feels like it’s filled with a hive of angry hornets, but she rolls out of bed and throws on some sweatpants, puts him on the leash and goes out. The sun is blinding and excruciating, and of course she forgot her sunglasses, but the dog is dragging her towards the park, so she leaves them behind.

It’s crowded today. There are children screaming everywhere, people talking too loudly, dogs barking. Her head feels like it’s going to explode and she thinks she may be sick. She closes her eyes to try to steady herself and her grip on the leash must loosen for just a second, but it’s enough. It slips from her hand, and when she opens her eyes, Sondheim is gone.

Panic grips her chest like she’s never known. She looks around frantically, but there are too many people and she can’t see him. He could be anywhere by now. He could be flattened in the middle of Fifth Avenue and she’ll never know.

Cassandra screams for him and starts running, but she doesn’t even know what direction he went in. She’s pushing past people left and right, probably knocking some over, but she doesn’t care. She yells his name until her voice is hoarse, to no avail. Her body collides with another, and there’s a flash of blonde hair and a voice she recognizes swearing as they make contact.

“Of course,” Quinn says dryly when she realizes who’s just run into her. Brody is by her side, putting a hand on her shoulder to make sure she’s okay. “Only you could be so good at knocking people down.”

Cassandra doesn’t have time for her shit, really, and Quinn finally seems to understand that something is wrong when she doesn’t respond.

“What happened?” she asks. “You look like death.”

“Cass?” Brody asks with concern.

But then there’s a guy jogging over to them. He could easily be a model, and he calls to her, holding a shaggy dog in his arms. Her dog. Rachel’s dog.

“I saw you running around and I thought maybe he belonged to you,” the guy says by way of introduction.

Cassandra takes Sondheim from him and buries her face in his fur. It barely muffles the sob that comes out of her mouth, and she must look like a psychopath, but she can’t stop it. She hates this dog some days, but he is the last vestige of her broken relationship and when she looked up and he was gone, it was like the last thread that tethered her to Rachel had snapped.

“Thank you,” Quinn says sweetly to the man that found her dog while Brody rubs Cassandra’s back in an attempt to get her to calm down. “You’re a lifesaver, really.”

“No problem,” he replies. “Have a good day, guys.”

Cassandra can’t answer, but Quinn waves at him as he walks away and then turns to look at her with intense annoyance.

“Come on,” she says, taking Cassandra by the arm and leading her back to the loft like a misbehaving child.

Sondheim, for his part, seems perfectly happy. He wags his tail and runs around, playing with Brody when they get back inside. Quinn fills up a glass of water and sets it down in front of Cassandra on the table.

“You need to dry out,” she says, lips pursed with disapproval.

“I appreciate your concern, Princess, but I’m fine now,” Cassandra says, voice hoarse from crying.

“Your endless self-pity is not attractive,” Quinn replies.

“Good thing you’re free to leave at any time,” Cassandra snaps. 

Quinn scoffs. “You really are the most self-absorbed person I’ve ever met,” she says.

“Babe, don’t,” Brody warns, but it’s too late. Cassandra rises to the bait.

“You know what, Princess, you don’t know anything about me or what I’ve been through, so why don’t you and your hunk of chiseled marble fuck off back to your perfect life and leave me alone,” she growls, because she’s tired of hearing people tell her about herself when she already knows every character flaw she has like it’s tattooed on her skin.

“Get over yourself, Cassandra,” Quinn says with an eyebrow that’s been perfected over the past twenty some years. “Stop being such a cliche. Self-fulfilling prophecies stopped being en vogue when Shakespeare died. I got a nose job and starved myself when I was fourteen because I hated the way I looked. I got pregnant to my boyfriend’s best friend when I was sixteen. I got kicked out of my house, kicked off of my cheerleading squad. I became a pariah overnight. I gave my baby up for adoption to a woman who didn’t live nearly far enough away from me and I had postpartum depression for over two years. So I understand you perfectly.”

She levels Cassandra with a dark look.

“The difference between you and I is that I learned from my mistakes and decided to make better decisions while you hardened your liver and wallowed in bitterness for the next decade and a half. You let the best thing that ever happened to you walk away and the only reason I’m even discussing this with you is because I think there’s a part of your cold, dead heart that actually loves her. And for some unfathomable reason, she’s still in love with you, too. So sober your drunk ass up, get yourself a sponsor and a therapist so you can finally let go of your baggage, and stop being such an idiot. Because even though Rachel doesn’t understand this yet, there are millions of people in New York and just about every one of them would fall over themselves to be with her, but if you don’t get your shit together soon, she’s going to realize that she has other options and you’re going to lose her forever.”

Cassandra has never hated a person more than she hates Quinn Fabray right now, mostly because every word she says cuts to the bone and rings true. She figured her life was over after _Damn Yankees_ , and maybe it was, but Rachel gave her a new lease whether she wanted it or not. Crying over that stupid dog today made her realize that losing Rachel feels like death all over again—and she’s not quite ready to lie down yet.

xx

Rachel’s dedication to her performance does not fall by the wayside in the wake of her split with Cassie. In fact, unlike most people, her talent only grows with her suffering.

She spends weeks crying over the way things ended. Even though she and Cassie were barely together by the time she walked out, it still feels like there’s a giant hole where her lungs should be. At first, she’s just really angry, because she and Cassie agreed long ago that Cassie would not speak to her the way she did after Melissa’s visit, and Cassie’s choice of words was particularly biting. It felt worse than anything anyone in high school had ever said to her—worse than anything Cassie ever said to her during her freshman year. But as the days pass by with no word from Cassie, no apology or communication of any kind, Rachel begins to doubt everything they ever shared over the past few years.

Kurt tries to make her feel better with movies and ice cream, and when that doesn’t work he says really scathing things about Cassie. Rachel doesn’t want to hear any of it, though. Every little thing just reminds her of the relationship she no longer has, and it only makes her cry more.

Brody has no idea what to do with a crying girl. He offers to talk to Cassie, make her see reason, but Rachel refuses. If Cassie won’t do it on her own, there’s no point. Quinn is mostly livid. She tells Rachel about how she goes to Cassie’s loft and the nasty words they share. Rachel isn’t pleased about that, even though she appreciates the sentiment. There was a time when Quinn would have been the one tearing Rachel down rather than going to bat for her against an ex.

Then Kurt comes home one day and tells her that he ran into Cassie at a coffee shop, spoke to her briefly, and that Cassie kissed him and told him to pass it along to Rachel, and that she shouldn’t waste her time missing Cassie at all. It’s then that she understands that Cassie has never felt like she deserved Rachel, that the only reason she’s staying away is because she believes Rachel is better off without her. The thought breaks Rachel’s heart so much that she can hardly breathe.

She finally tells Kurt exactly what happened between them that day, and she still remembers the conversation word for word. He grimaces a little and tries to look sympathetic. He agrees that Cassie could have handled it better, but tells her as gently as he can that Rachel was in the wrong, too. She really didn’t have a right to butt into Cassie’s family affairs, especially one as painful and delicate as that. He suggests that maybe they both have some growing to do, and that it might be better to do it apart for now.

Rachel can’t really express how terrified she is that both of them growing apart means that they won’t ever fit back together again.

xx

Their new Melanie is named Emily. She’s a very pretty girl with an English accent who makes Rachel laugh for the first time in a month, and they become friends pretty effortlessly. Rachel is disappointed that the show’s opening gets pushed back, but she hears that this happens all the time with new shows and there’s no reason to worry. She has her part down perfectly by now, but more practice is never a bad thing.

They spend a lot of their time at a diner down the street from their rehearsal space. Sometimes it’s the full main cast, and others it’s just Rachel and Emily. Hearing about life in the UK helps take Rachel’s mind off of everything for a while, but sometimes she starts to get pensive and serious again. It’s then that Emily will break out her impression of a Civil War era Southern Belle, which rarely fails to make Rachel chuckle.

“You look so sad sometimes, Rachel,” Emily says. “I can’t help but make you want to laugh. You have such a beautiful smile.”

Rachel blushes and suddenly feels like she’s in high school again, lapping up every ounce of attention she can get from boys like Finn Hudson and Jesse St. James.

“I appreciate it,” Rachel says. “I’ve been having a difficult time lately.”

“Lucas told me you’ve gone through a breakup recently,” Emily says with concern.

Rachel’s smile is tired as she takes a sip of her coffee.

“No secrets between cast mates, I guess.”

“Well, he is a bit of a gossip,” Emily replies quickly, which makes Rachel laugh a bit. “You don’t have to say anything, but if you want to talk about it, you can.”

Her initial thought is that she really does not want to talk about Cassie to anyone, let alone a colleague. But as she picks at her napkin, she begins to think that maybe talking wouldn’t be so bad. Emily is one of the few people who hasn’t been entwined in her life for several years. She has no intimate knowledge of Rachel’s life in high school, at NYADA, or her relationship with Cassie. There are no personal stakes for her, and maybe it would be nice to have someone just listen for once without judgement.

Soon, Rachel finds herself spilling her guts. She tells Emily all about how she and Cassie met, their tumultuous relationship at the beginning, and how that grew into something great. Emily reaches across the table and holds Rachel’s hand in silent support, and Rachel realizes that she’s crying. Of course. When is she not?

“I’ve spoken to people who had Cassandra July as a teacher and they told me she was a nightmare, honestly, but also one of the best dancers they’ve ever known,” Emily says as Rachel wipes at her eyes with her torn up napkin.

“That sounds about right,” Rachel says with a fond smile. “Most people think that’s all there is to her, but she’s so much more than that. She’s one of the most amazing people I’ve ever known. She’s the last person I expected to fall for, but she’s everything I never knew I wanted.”

Emily stares at her a little wistfully and Rachel wonders what her face must look like right now.

“It sounds like you love her very much.”

In the wake of Rachel’s heartache, that really seems like the understatement of the century.

xx

The good thing about being in the middle of a production is that she doesn’t have nearly as much time to wallow as she could. The weeks roll by and she hardly realizes it. She measures time in relation to how close they are to opening night, which always seems equal amounts of too close and too far. Kind of like Cassie. 

Sometimes she imagines how easy it would be to hop on the train and show up at Cassie’s door, pull her close and kiss her until neither of them remember the past few months. But the thought of Cassie’s face, of what it will look like when she opens the door, makes Rachel’s stomach twist until she feels sick. She pushes the idea back down into the depths of her mind before it really starts, until she stops having it altogether.

The passage of time does not heal as quickly as Rachel wishes it would, but a busy schedule looks good on her. She finds herself laughing more and crying less, feeling the anticipation of what’s to come instead of dreading an uncertain future. For now, she has this. She has her work and her talent. She has her cast mates and her friends. Of course she wishes she could have the full package, top off the list with a perfect love life and call herself the luckiest girl in the world, but maybe that’s just not in the cards for her right now. And maybe she can even be okay with that.

xx

Brody asks her to lunch one day, and since Rachel actually has the time, she accepts, ignoring Emily’s curious stare as she walks out on his arm. They go to a vegan sandwich shop a few blocks away. As they walk, Brody chatters happily about his latest audition and tells her that he’s been thinking more and more about asking Quinn to marry him.

“Brody, that’s amazing!” Rachel exclaims, smacking his arm playfully.

He tries to shrug it off, but he can’t contain his grin. “I might need your help with rings at some point. Quinn is too scary to risk getting the wrong one.”

“While I admit that Quinn can be very particular about what she wants, when it comes to something like this I think she’ll be too happy to care,” Rachel says authoritatively, but then quickly relents. “Of course I’ll help you, though.”

When they get to the shop, Rachel goes with a fresh vegetable quinoa salad while Brody opts for a mushroom burger (the closest thing to meat he can find). He looks pensive throughout lunch, and Rachel wonders if he may still be thinking about proposing to Quinn, but then he clears his throat and shifts in his seat nervously.

“Is there something wrong?” Rachel asks, which causes his ears to get a little red. “You know you can tell me anything, Brody.”

He nods and takes a breath, seems to get his shit together for a minute.

“I, uh, talked to Cassie the other day,” he says finally.

There’s really no accounting for the way that name stabs Rachel right through the gut. She tries to keep her face collected as she decides how to respond and thinks she might even be successful.

“How is she?” Rachel asks as evenly as possible.

“Okay, actually,” Brody says, sounding surprised. “Way better than she was before. And she was sober. I mean, she didn’t look happy, necessarily, but she looked healthier at least. She told me she’s been going to AA meetings.”

Rachel has no idea what to do with that information. In all of their years together, Cassie never really addressed her drinking. She certainly never admitted to being an alcoholic, and Rachel never really thought of her as one. She knew that Cassie drank a lot when they first met, and then recently when they were having issues, but there was a time when Cassie hardly drank at all except for the occasional glass of wine at dinner.

“I just didn’t realize that was something she needed,” she says after a minute.

Brody shrugs. “Every addict is different, Rach. My dad could drink a six pack every day of his life, but the minute he touched a bottle of liquor, things fell apart. Cassie was able to control herself for a while, and then something probably triggered her and she decided to start self-medicating again. Alcoholics don’t stop being what they are just because they’re not drinking themselves into a ditch every night.”

She feels her old anger springing back suddenly. All the times that Cassie chose to drink rather than confronting her problems come back to Rachel at once. She thinks of the day she walked out, of the way Cassie clung to her wine glass like a lifeline before slinging the ugliest of words at the girl she supposedly loved.

“I’m glad she’s getting the help she needs, but I wish I didn’t have to walk out for it to happen.”

Brody levels her with a serious look.

“She’s sick, Rachel. That’s not something that you can fix without her consent. Sometimes people have to hit rock bottom before they can even think about climbing back up.”

Rachel isn’t sure how to respond, but she wonders what it means that Cassie’s version of rock bottom is Rachel walking out the door.

xx

The twelve step program is a bunch of bullshit, as far as Cassandra is concerned. Whoever decided that she needs God in her life to get sober is an idiot, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to go around and apologize to every cry baby she’s ever offended in her life. 

The only thing she really needed to get her life back on track was to wander in through the open door of the church basement one night and witness the state of some of the people there—lifetime addicts who look twice their age and probably have very few people left in the world who give a shit about them—and decide she didn’t want to be like them. Cassandra knows it’s rude to judge, considering how awful she’s looked these past months, but she’s never claimed to be a saint and she figures it’s better to think these things in her head than say them out loud. She doesn’t stay for that first meeting, but she finds herself drawn back there the next week and decides to take a seat in the back of the room.

She listens to everyone get up and tell their life stories, talk about how long they’ve been sober and what tragedy caused them to start drinking and how hard it is to stop some days. There’s a dark-skinned man who gets up to invite anyone else up to the podium who wants to talk. He catches her eye and looks at her like he actually expects her to go spill her guts in front of this room, but Cassandra just sits there and glares until he looks away and someone else decides to get up. When the meeting ends, she leaves before anyone has a chance to say anything to her.

It takes two more meetings before he finally manages to catch her at the door. She’s accidentally early today, which is a mistake she’ll be sure to never make again, because it results in the man cornering her near the coffee pot and trying to make small talk with her.

His name is Marcus. He’s one of the sponsors here and he generally leads the group discussions. He’s noticed her sneaking into the back of the room for the past three weeks and he wanted to introduce himself and make her feel welcome.

He seems a lot less annoying that she originally pegged him for, so she tells him her name and takes the styrofoam cup of shitty coffee he offers her.

“So what brings you here?” Marcus asks politely.

“I thought that was pretty obvious,” Cassandra says, eyeing him over her coffee cup.

He has a very reassuring smile.

“Well, I never like to assume. We get friends and family members in here sometimes who are trying to understand what their loved ones are going through.”

Cassandra eyes the stale cookies and bagels available for consumption on the table nearby and quickly decides against it.

“I’m just your garden variety alcoholic,” she says. “What about you?”

Marcus doesn’t seem fazed by her attitude. He picks up a sugar cookie from the grocery store tray and takes a bite. Cassandra wonders how he stays so fit if he eats like that regularly.

“You don’t get to be a sponsor without going through the program,” is Marcus’ reply. “I’ve been sober for nearly twelve years.”

“Impressive,” Cassandra says with a half smile. “Maybe I’ll get to hear your story tonight.”

Marcus considers her with eyes that seem to reach too deep.

“I think I’ll wait until I hear yours first.”

xx

Brody invites himself to her 11:50 dance class the next week, and Cassandra is forced to spend half the period snapping at the freshman girls who are too fixated on Brody’s good looks to pay attention.

“If you’re going to be a distraction, you can at least be a useful one,” she says, and drags him over to demonstrate proper ballet lifts.

Things go more smoothly after that, and Brody seems to enjoy being her temporary TA for the day. She does miss him here. Her current TA is not nearly as competent.

“It’s rude to stare, Hefty Hanna,” Cassandra says to a girl who really isn’t that heavy and is probably not named Hanna, but her gawking at Brody as she trips her way out of the studio is annoying.

“Some things never change,” Brody says, shaking his head.

“What do you want?” she asks, because she’s rarely in the mood for small talk these days.

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing, Cass,” Brody replies, and he looks a little hurt by her tone. “You barely keep in touch these days and I wanted to make sure you weren’t ‘drowning in a pool of your own vomit’, as Quinn likes to put it.”

“Tell Princess Peach not to get her hopes up,” Cassandra says with a smirk. “I took her extremely unsolicited advice and started going to AA. Don’t tell her that part, though. I don’t want her getting the idea that I actually listen to anything that comes out of her breathy, porn star mouth.”

Brody actually snorts at that, though he has the good sense to look regretful afterwards.

“That’s really good to hear, Cass. I’m proud of you.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes and begins packing up her bag.

“Fuck off. I’m not doing it for you or for anyone else.”

“I know you’re not,” Brody says, but when she catches his eye in the mirrors, he looks like he really doesn’t believe that at all.

“Walk me to the subway,” Cassandra says once she’s done getting her things together.

Brody agrees, and as they walk he fills the silence with mundane conversation that doesn’t require much of a response from her. She’s thankful that he was blessed with a mouth full of hot air, and when he finally hugs her goodbye, she sags in relief at the fact that he had the grace not to mention Rachel once.

xx

“I just think it’s unnecessary,” Cassandra says, taking a small bite of her western omelette.

She’s finally agreed to meet with Marcus outside of their weekly AA meetings, after several weeks of him trying to convince her that this isn’t some ploy to try to get her to sleep with him. He’s taken her to his favorite diner and ordered a greasy cheeseburger with a pile of french fries and a peanut butter shake. He inhales it all while she argues with him about the merits of speaking up at their next meeting.

“Cassandra,” he begins through a bite of french fries, and she’s eternally grateful that he’s one of the few people in her life who hasn’t taken it upon himself to call her by a nickname without asking first, “I know you think that you don’t need anyone’s help or support. You think your alcohol abuse is a crutch rather than a disease and that just by showing up at the meetings you’re doing all you need to in order to give that up. Maybe sobriety is like a switch that you can flip on with the right wakeup call and the appropriate motivators. It’s like that for some people. But I think you need to consider the fact that if you really put in the effort and work this program the way you’re supposed to, maybe you can learn enough about yourself to identify the triggers that flipped the switch in the first place, and come up with some coping mechanisms to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.”

The words feel a bit like a slap in the face, and her initial reaction is to be angry at him. The fact that he assumes he knows her and that she doesn’t know herself is obnoxious and infuriating.

“You think me standing up and crying about my problems in front of a room full of former drunks is going to help me find inner peace?” she asks flippantly, knowing that it’s a stupid question and that’s not what he’s saying at all.

Marcus’ impassivity in the face of her petulance is impressive as always, if infuriating.

“I think that opening yourself up and voicing your struggles to a group of people who understand what you’re going through and won’t judge you for it can be extremely cathartic,” he says calmly. “And I think that you’re afraid of making yourself vulnerable. Because if even a ‘room full of former drunks’, as you so eloquently put it, think that there’s nothing redeemable about you, then what chance do you have with the people in your life who are actually important to you? Or worse yet: if the room full of former drunks does find you redeemable, then you may actually have to face the fact that you are worthy of love, support, and forgiveness. And that doesn’t jive very well wit the image you’ve sold yourself over the years, does it?”

She hates him. She hates every word that’s coming out of his mouth and the smug presumptions that come with them. She hates the fact that he has the audacity to say this shit to her as if he’s known her for her entire life, as if she would even allow someone who’s known her for that long to speak to her that way. She hates the way he looks at her like there’s nothing even remotely mysterious about her life or the way her mind works. Most of all, she hates the fact that every single word is true.

She tells him to go fuck himself, gets up and leaves her half-eaten omelette behind.

xx

Two weeks later, she gets up in front of the room and introduces herself. She doesn’t say much, but she does grudgingly admit to be an alcoholic and gets annoyed at herself for the relief that she feels when she sees only sympathy and understanding in the eyes of her fellow attendees. Cassandra chances a glance at Marcus and wants to smack him because he looks proud of her. At least he could justify her anger at him by being smug and self-congratulatory, but there’s not an ounce of any of that on his face. He merely gives her an encouraging nod while she talks.

So she says a little more about how she ruined her career and how the self-loathing that resulted led her to seek solace at the bottom of a bottle. She mentions the fact that she had a good relationship with a great girl and she fucked it all up because she couldn’t deal with her own crushing regret. 

No one really looks surprised. This story is familiar to most of the people here, even if the details differ from person to person. They understand her struggle and they understand that she blames herself for it. Marcus told her that this would be the first step toward forgiving herself, but she doesn’t feel ready for that yet and maybe she never will. The least she can say is that she didn’t hate telling her story to these people nearly as much as she thought she would, so maybe that’s a victory in and of itself.

Marcus thanks her for sharing when she’s finished, and if she feels just a little bit lighter when she sits back down, she decides not to tell him when they meet for coffee later.

xx

It’s early November by the time _Gone with the Wind_ finally opens. Rachel can hardly believe it’s finally here—it seems like just yesterday she was at her last wrap party, getting asked to audition for this role. Nothing has gone exactly as planned during that time, but now that the big night is finally here, Rachel is overjoyed. She reminds herself over and over again to hit the mark in the second act that she’s prone to missing and bounces around her dressing room with nervous energy.

There are so many people waiting on the other side of the curtain to see her star in her first Broadway show. All of her friends from the city are here, and so are her dads. Rachel pointedly doesn’t think about whether or not Cassie might be out there. She’s not sure which option would be worse for her composure, and she can’t risk getting herself worked up before the show starts. No matter who’s out there tonight, Rachel doesn’t want to disappoint a single person who turned out to see the show.

There’s a light knock at the door, and then Emily pokes her head into the room.

“How are you feeling?” she asks with a brilliant smile that Rachel returns out of pure reflex.

“Pre-show jitters,” Rachel replies, fussing with her hair in the mirror.

Emily steps up behind her and helps to rearrange some of the curls on top of Rachel’s head. Rachel has to suppress a shiver at the feel of light fingers at her scalp.

“Well, I’ve seen your performance a few hundred times and I’m still blown away by each and every one. If anyone is going to be successful, it’s you, Rachel. You have nothing to worry about,” Emily says, closer to Rachel’s ear than is strictly necessary.

Rachel thinks she may be blushing, but it’s hard to tell under all of her makeup. A stagehand runs by the door and yells her name right as she catches Emily’s eye in the mirror, and Rachel quietly excuses herself to run off. The show is about to start. Everything else in her world will have to wait.

xx

Stepping into any theatre still gives Cassandra the kind of anxiety that makes her throat dry and her fingers itch. This night is no exception, and perhaps it’s made even worse by the knowledge that she will be seeing Rachel for the first time in months, even if it is at a distance. Cassandra didn’t bother coordinating with the others to get seats down in the front. She’d prefer if she didn’t see any of them at all, and hopes that her seat in the middle left section will increase the changes of that happening.

It’s hard to believe she’s even here, waiting in the audience to see this godforsaken show. It feels like a lifetime since that fateful night, when she watched Rachel’s future open up wide right in front of her and downed two shots to keep from saying something stupid—like how it should have been her getting a lead role, and how Rachel wasn’t even close to ready for such an opportunity, and how Cassandra hoped that Rachel would falter and crumble under all of that pressure just like she did.

None of those things are true, of course. Cassandra has grown to accept that she was meant for a different life—one outside of the theatre. Rachel was born ready to face stardom head on. And Cassandra would never truly wish her own downfall on someone else, especially not Rachel Berry. But standing there that night, watching history repeat itself before her very eyes, Cassandra found it easy to let herself believe those things out of jealousy and regret. She let it poison her entire life. And that’s why she’s sitting here as a random audience member and not as Rachel’s guest.

Everything here looks exactly as she remembers it. The place is packed with rabid bloggers who weren’t important enough to get a press pass to the preview show and pretentious hipsters who insist on seeing new productions the day they open, just so they can say they were there first. Cassandra hates everything about it, honestly, but only in that jaded way that comes from being destroyed by the very thing you love most. It still feels like home to her, and maybe that’s the part she hates more than anything.

xx

There’s really nothing better or worse than standing just on the other side of the curtain minutes before it ascends, knowing that when it does, you have to be a different person entirely. Rachel listens to the director’s pre-show notes as the audience’s chatter filters through the room like a muffled roar. This is the moment she’s been waiting for her entire life. This is why she was put on Earth in the first place.

There’s a show circle. Emily catches her eye over the sea of hands, but Rachel looks right through her. All she can see is a future of success stretched out endlessly in front of her. The circle breaks. There’s a countdown as everyone gets into place. The lights dim and Rachel closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

The curtain opens.

xx

Cassandra feels her heart rate spike the second the lights in the theatre dim. Everyone in the audience goes silent, and then the lights on the stage go up and the orchestra begins playing the opening notes of a sweeping tune that Cassandra thinks is a vague riff from the film. The curtain opens and Rachel steps on stage from the darkness of the wings. She looks out into the audience wistfully, opens her mouth, and begins to sing.

It feels like having a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. Rachel is so fucking heart-wrenchingly beautiful that the sight of her makes Cassandra’s eyes well up with tears. Her voice rings out so clearly through the theatre, flawless as always, and reaches deep into Cassandra’s chest to grip at her very soul.

She can’t believe she ever lost sight of this—can’t believe she forgot that this is at the very essence of who Rachel is, this pure and shining angel of a person. This is the girl that Cassandra fell in love with. The girl who was so determined to become a star that she pushed her way past every person who ever told her that she wasn’t good or pretty enough and made it happen. 

That she is the same girl who pushed and pushed Cassandra’s personal boundaries until Cassandra finally snapped on her, who was so self-involved that she couldn’t even stop barreling through life for a second to recognize that her own girlfriend was heading for self-destruction like a freight train, is somehow inconceivable now. Cassandra is so angry at both of them for the way they’ve handled the past year. 

She feels the tears slipping down her cheeks less than ten minutes in and settles in for what she knows is going to be a long and painful show.

xx

It’s perfect. The whole thing goes off without a single hitch, and by the end of the show, the audience is on their feet clapping and cheering. Rachel couldn’t stop the smile from splitting her face open as she takes a bow even if she wanted to. She explodes into the wings, jumping on Lucas’ back and then flinging herself at Jacob with a barely-contained scream. She can’t even keep track of all the people from the cast and crew who are coming up to congratulate and hug her.

Somehow, she finally manages to escape off to the side of all the commotion and catch her breath. She’s still grinning to herself when she hears someone call her name and turns around to find Emily standing right behind her.

“You were absolutely incredible,” Emily tells her with this awestruck look in her eyes that Rachel recognizes just a moment too late.

Emily’s lips are soft, but the weight of them against Rachel’s is impossibly heavy and hot, and Rachel stands completely frozen in shock for a full two seconds, hands floundering at her sides.

“Schwimmer…”

That single word turns Rachel’s blood to ice in an instant. She nearly shoves Emily away from her completely, and thankfully the girl doesn’t fall, though she does stumble for a step. 

Like a phantom from Rachel’s best dreams and worst nightmares, Cassie is standing off to the side, expression inscruitible, but eyes rimmed red as if she’s been crying. The sight of her standing there after so long, coupled with the fresh bewilderment from Emily’s kiss and the excitement of her performance, is enough to make Rachel feel like she might collapse.

“Cassie,” she says breathlessly.

She looks amazing; at least a hundred times better than she did the last time Rachel saw her, and it’s only now that she fully understands the toll that Cassie’s sickness has had on her, at least physically. In her hand is a single rose, and immediately Rachel knows. She _knows_ that it means something, that it’s a callback to that first show all those years ago when they were just starting out and the whole world was laid at their feet and Cassie told Rachel that she loved her for the first time. It’s a peace offering, a fresh start, and _God_ Rachel was not prepared for this even a little bit, but she should have known.

Emily clears her throat awkwardly, and Rachel thinks that it must be a testament to how much Cassie’s grown that she doesn’t fly across the room or even shoot a murderous glare in her direction. She just looks resigned, like she expected this all along. Like she deserves it.

“I’m going to catch up with the others,” Emily says quietly. “I’ll see you later.”

“Actually,” Cassie says, stepping forward to hand Rachel the rose, “I just came to give you this and to say congratulations. You were great. Both of you.”

They lock eyes for a second as Rachel numbly accepts the flower from Cassie’s hand, and then she turns and retreats as quickly as she appeared. Rachel swears that she’s going to be sick. Her whole body rebels at the sight of Cassie walking away, and it’s all she can do not to scream after her. She’s not sure there’s anything she can say that would make Cassie stay anyway.

xx

The air is brisk as she exits the theatre, and her feet carry her so fast down the street that it feels like they’re working without any input from her. Honestly, she feels like her chest is caving in on itself, so it’s probably best that the rest of her body continues on without her. She’s not sure what would prevent her from collapsing to the ground otherwise.

There’s a voice calling after her, but it takes Cassandra a moment to realize that someone is actually talking to her, let alone who the person is. She turns to find Rachel basically sprinting towards her and briefly considers taking off as fast as she can. She’s not really confident that she can hold a conversation right now without completely falling apart.

“Cassie, please wait,” Rachel pleads. She’s out of breath, and still in costume, so it would be cruel not to hear her out now. Not that Cassandra is above cruelty, but she’s trying to be a better person now.

“Your costume designer’s going to be pissed if you ruin that dress,” Cassandra manages to say once Rachel comes to a stop in front of her.

“He’s an ass, anyway,” Rachel replies, which catches Cassandra off guard. She huffs out a laugh and tries not to let the image of Rachel kissing her co-star plague her mind so that she can keep her shit together. “Cassie, I’m sorry. I didn’t know any of that was going to happen.”

There are so many things that Cassandra wants to say. She feels a thousand venomous retorts rise to the back of her throat and pushes each one back down. It’s been months since she and Rachel broke up. They’ve barely spoken in that time, and have only seen each other this once. That Rachel’s first instinct in this situation is to apologize as if she’s done something wrong means that she must still be hanging on to something between them, but Cassandra doesn’t want to get her hopes up. She’s still broken, and Rachel still deserves better.

Cassandra takes a shaky breath and tries for a small smile. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I can’t just expect you to sit around all of these months and wait for me to get my shit together.”

“I just…” Rachel starts, but then shakes her head and doesn’t finish. “You look really good.”

“Yeah, well it’s amazing what happens to your complexion when you replace your daily alcohol intake with water,” Cassandra says.

“I’m really proud of you, Cassie,” Rachel says with a smile.

That hits like a ton of bricks to the chest. Cassandra has to work to swallow back the tightness in her throat.

“Thanks,” she says thickly.

The silence that falls between them isn’t as uncomfortable as Cassandra thinks it could be. She wonders what would happen if she reached out to touch Rachel, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear or trace the edges of her face. She wonders if Rachel would pull away. But she already knows the answer. Rachel looks at her like all she’s waiting for is the barest hint of a signal to throw herself back into Cassandra’s arms, back into her life. To carry on like nothing has ever happened to them. For a second, Cassandra seriously considers it.

“You’re still the best I’ve ever seen, you know,” she says sadly. Rachel’s eyes close, and it’s clear that she knows that Cassandra has chosen to walk away. “I’ll see you around, Rachel.”

She doesn’t turn away fast enough to miss the shattered look on Rachel’s face, but it doesn’t stop her from leaving anyway.

xx

“You know, this is definitely not a recommended place for a recovering alcoholic to hang out.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes and starts to regret her life choices as Marcus slides onto the bar stool beside her. She shoots him a practiced glare, which slides off of him like water.

“I texted you, didn’t I?” she snaps, and Marcus nods his head in acquiescence.

“Decided to test out all of the taps, I see,” he says.

Cassandra’s tried to order a drink five times since she got to this bar, and barely managed to correct course each time, so now she has a variety of soft drinks, water, and cranberry juice in front of her instead, along with one irritated bartender who’s probably going to try to kick her out any minute now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Marcus asks.

“I really don’t,” Cassandra replies.

Marcus shrugs and turns to watch one of the televisions hanging over the bar. He snags one of her drinks and drinks half of the glass. Cassandra tries not to be surprised, but she can’t believe that he’s not trying to drag her out of here while lecturing her about the pitfalls of surrounding herself with the very thing that she’s addicted to. She wasn’t sure he was even capable of keeping his mouth shut for this long, but he just continues watching the soccer game on the TV like she isn’t even there, and she realizes that she’s actually appreciative of this silent companionship. She doesn’t want to be pressured into explaining herself, or be forced to recount the feeling of utter devastation that comes with being close enough to Rachel to touch, and yet somehow still finding the strength to walk away. Marcus seems to understand, and she’s grateful for that.

They sit there for over an hour while Marcus orders food and downs each of the drinks she ordered. Cassandra tries to busy herself by silently reciting the name of every dance step she’s ever heard of until she finally feels like maybe she can be trusted to be alone with herself again.

“I need to learn how to let go,” she finally says once Marcus has finished his food and paid for their tab.

“You will,” he says without a shred of doubt. “Not tonight, though. I’m ready for bed. Let’s get out of here.”

Cassandra follows him out of the bar and allows him to hail a cab for them. “I’m still not sleeping with you,” she says, just to be clear.

“I’m sure my wife will appreciate that,” he replies.

xx

The next day, Rachel is still grappling with the fact that she had Cassie right in front of her, looking at her like the sun rises and sets in Rachel’s eyes, and yet they still parted with nothing more than a few words that cracked Rachel’s heart in two. She knows what she saw: for a moment, Cassie was considering making a move, and in that moment Rachel had never wanted anything so desperately in her life. But something made Cassie pull away, something that Rachel isn’t sure she’ll ever understand.

“Look, Yentl, you don’t pick a flower before it blooms,” Santana tells her over lunch, and Quinn shoots her a dubious look at the metaphor. “Not that I’m saying your girl is a flower. Maybe a prickly, black rose, if anything.”

“So hot, though,” Brittany interjects, and Quinn sighs.

“I just mean, like, she probably looks cured to you right now because you’re used to seeing her at her worst. But really, this is only the beginning, for her,” Santana finishes.

“That’s actually very astute,” Shelby says from the end of the table, where she and Quinn are trying to keep Beth from getting chocolate ice cream all over herself. Shelby gives up and hands Quinn a wet napkin to let her take over the cleanup duties. “Honey, if she’s pulling away, it’s probably because she knows she’s not ready. You have to trust her and respect her enough to give her the space that she needs.”

“But what if she’s never ready?” Rachel asks.

None of them have an answer for that.

xx

There’s another show that day, which is not nearly enough time or space for Rachel to think or prepare a proper response before she has to see Emily again. If it were up to her, she’d avoid this for a lifetime, especially when the wounds opened by her conversation with Cassie are still fresh. But Emily is her castmate, and they need to be able to perform without conflict, so Rachel knows that she will not escape this day without having a talk about their kiss.

Under any other circumstances, it would have been perfect. In fact, it’s definitely on the top of her list of Most Romantic Ways to be Kissed by a Potential Love Interest. A passionate lip lock while in the throes of post-performance ecstasy is about as classic as it gets. But it was wrong, of course. Even before Cassie interrupted, Rachel was thrown off balance by that kiss. As much as she appreciates Emily’s companionship, it’s clear that she doesn’t have those feelings for her. All of which was made much clearer by the fact that she couldn’t even be in Cassie’s presence without feeling her blood race under her skin and her breath rush from her lungs.

Emily finds her, of course, just before Rachel sits down for hair and makeup. She looks every bit as awkward as Rachel feels, picking at her cuticles while she leans against the door of Rachel’s dressing room.

“So I want to say I’m sorry about what happened yesterday,” she starts.

“Yeah, me too,” Rachel says regretfully. She moves to sit on the small couch shoved into her room, signaling to Emily that she can join if she wants to. “That wasn’t an ideal situation for anyone.”

“I shouldn’t have sprung that on you,” Emily says, resting on the arm of the couch next to Rachel. “I guess i just got caught up in the moment.”

“Well, I can appreciate the drama of that,” Rachel grins. “I think you’re amazing, Emily. I don’t know what I would have done without you these past few months.”

“Is this the part where you let me down easy?” Emily asks with a self-deprecating smile.

Rachel sighs. “If last night taught me anything, it’s that I’m nowhere near ready to move on from Cassie. I don’t know what’s in store for me, but I know that I have a lot of good things going on right now and a lot of learning to do. I haven’t ever really let myself be content with being single before, but I think maybe that’s exactly what I need right now.”

“I get it,” Emily says with a shrug. “It was still worth a try, I think.”

“You’re a good kisser, if it’s any consolation,” Rachel tells her playfully.

Emily smirks. “Hey, I didn’t spend my time at uni snogging half the girls in my year for nothing.”

Rachel laughs and stands to give her a hug.

“Friends, right?”

“Of course,” Emily agrees. She walks with Rachel over to hair and makeup. “Any chance that tall blonde that was with the group that dropped you off earlier is single?”

“Not single, but that rarely seems to be a concern for her or her girlfriend,” Rachel says, and Emily contemplates that thoughtfully while they get ready.

xx

They argue for weeks. When Cassandra told Marcus she wanted to learn to let go, she had no idea that she was providing him with the impetus he needed to launch into a thousand self-righteous commentaries about why making amends was such a crucial part of the program.

“No matter how much you pretend like you don’t owe anyone anything, some part of you feels guilty for the hurt you’ve caused people through your disease. I don’t care if you never touch a drink for the rest of your life—you’re never going to be able to take care of yourself or anyone else if you carry around all that self-loathing until you die. Quitting drinking is only the first step in the healing process, Cassandra.”

She stops listening after that, because if he expects her to apologize to every person she’s ever hurt, they’re both going to be dead before she hits the end of that list. Besides, there are few people in her life who actually deserve an apology, and those people don’t need an apology in order to move on.

Of course, life always finds a way to teach her a lesson. She arrives at her dance studio early one morning to find Hefty Hanna practicing her ass off. The girl has the rhythm of a crippled elephant on a good day, and typically receives the brunt of Cassandra’s aggression during class. Most of her students thrive under this adversity, but Hanna seems to be cracking under the pressure.

Cassandra watches the girl run choreography over and over again, and each time is just a little bit worse, until finally she falters on one of her steps and comes crashing to the ground. Hanna doesn’t get up, and Cassandra can tell from the movement of her body that she’s crying, though it’s likely out of frustration or embarrassment more than physical pain.

Witnessing this breakdown forces her to recall a similar time, back when Rachel was still under her tutelage and insufferable as ever. Cassandra was harder on Rachel than just about any other student in recent memory, and though Rachel was more determined than anyone she’s met before or since, even she was driven to tears by Cassandra’s teaching style.

She wonders for the first time in her life how many young hopefuls have been affected by her this way. How many have been so beaten down by her that they push themselves to tears or madness or injury? How many have stopped believing in themselves altogether? How many potential careers has Cassandra poisoned with her own bitterness and regret?

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, because this is exactly the kind of self-realization that Marcus would be congratulating himself over if he were here to witness it. She can practically hear his voice in her head urging her to make things right.

“It’s not too late to make a difference,” he’d told her before, which is an infuriating platitude that Cassandra would rather scoff at than take seriously. There are a lot of things in life that are much easier to cope with if you allow yourself to believe that it’s already out of your hands.

Her hand is already pulling the door to the studio open before she can stop herself. Hanna looks up at the sound, face red and streaked with tears, and Cassandra already hates herself for this.

“Miss July,” the girl stutters with a look of fear on her face that Cassandra would normally relish. Now it just makes her tired. “I’m so sorry. I can leave.”

She scrambles to gather up her things, dropping half of her shit on the floor in her haste to get out of the studio, but Cassandra places a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“You don’t have to leave,” she says. “Your tuition pays for this studio. Show me what you were working on and I’ll see if I can help.”

The girl gapes at her in a way that truly tries her patience, but Cassandra swallows back her annoyance and looks at her expectantly.

“Today would be preferable,” she says without too much bite.

“Right! Sorry,” Hanna says sheepishly. “I just...I know I’m not very good.”

“Well...what’s your name again?”

“Alex.”

“Really? I was way off,” Cassandra says, and makes a note to try to learn people’s actual names from now on. “Anyway, Alex, I’ll tell you the best kept secret in show business: all of the greats became great by working their asses off. Barbara didn’t come out of the womb singing _Funny Girl_. Every prima ballerina loses her toenails to fourteen hour practices. You know why you never hear about child savants after they reach adulthood? Because they all crash and burn by the time they hit thirty. If you don’t have to work for it, you don’t want it enough. Anyone can learn to dance if they really want to.”

Alex looks like she’s been star struck by Cassandra’s inspiring little speech. Her eyes sparkle with hope as she no doubt imagines herself completing an EGOT or something.

“Were you bad when you first started?” she asks hesitantly.

Cassandra’s lips press into a thin line as she grits her teeth.

“I was great,” she says pointedly. “Now let's get to work. I expect you to pass your midterms this year.”

xx

So it turns out that making amends isn’t all about heartfelt apologies and crossing names off of a list. Maybe the words don’t matter quite as much as the actions. She’s not telling Marcus any of this, but treating her students like human beings instead of insignificant ants actually makes her feel a little lighter. It’s not as if she’s a different person—there’s still plenty of snark to go around—but she can already tell the difference between respect and fear. It’s nice, but also a little terrifying. She’s been stagnant for so long that moving forward feels like a risk too big to take. What will she hold onto if not the decades of disdain for the human race?

Cassandra runs into possibly the one person she knows that would understand her struggle—not by choice, of course, because she can’t think of a reason that she would ever choose to spend alone time with Quinn Fabray, but the universe appears to be keen on teaching her unwanted lessons lately. Quinn doesn’t see her until they’re both at the counter waiting for their order, but then she looks up from her phone just long enough to glance at Cassandra and issue a shallow sigh.

“Of all the coffee shops in all the world,” Cassandra deadpans, and Quinn rolls her eyes.

“I’ve never seen Casablanca,” she replies with disinterest.

“I’m not surprised, considering your distinct lack of taste.”

Quinn’s not taking the bait, which is a shame. Fighting with her is always fun. There are few people who can match Cassandra barb for barb like Quinn can.

When Quinn’s coffee comes, she reaches for it with her left hand and Cassandra catches sight of the ring there. Brody already told her about this, of course, and when she asked if he was sure he wanted to be legally tied to a harpy, he just sent her an exasperated emoji.

“Looks like Brody’s got more style than I gave him credit for,” Cassandra says, nodding towards the ring on Quinn’s finger. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Don’t say anything you don’t mean,” Quinn replies, and turns to leave.

“Whatever. He’s happy, so…” Cassandra shifts on her feet, and this is unbearably uncomfortable for her, but she tries anyway. “I do mean it. I’m glad you guys have each other.”

Quinn turns back to her, looking genuinely surprised. She really assesses Cassandra for the first time since they started speaking.

“How long has it been now?” she asks. Cassandra raises an eyebrow, so Quinn clarifies. “Since you stopped drinking.”

It’s really none of Quinn’s business, and for a second Cassandra considers telling her to fuck off. But it feels like they’re on the edge of having an actual conversation rather than just taking the piss out of each other with every breath, so Cassandra allows this for now.

“About six months.”

“Hmm,” Quinn says, and keeps staring at her with those too-observant eyes that Cassandra hates so much. “You look better. Better than I’ve ever seen you, I think. Even before you started drinking again, you were still...I don’t know. Dark, maybe.”

Of course Quinn sees this shift. She’s watched it in herself, too. Like recognizes like. Quinn may have never been an alcoholic, but hating yourself to the point of destruction leaves a mark no matter the symptoms. Cassandra sees herself in Quinn, too. Maybe this is why they’ve always grated against one another. No one likes see themselves reflected in someone else.

“I’ve been trying something new,” Cassandra says simply.

“Not being a complete asshole, you mean,” Quinn replies.

Cassandra smirks. “Yeah, something like that. Cleaning up some of my baggage, I guess.”

For a moment, Quinn actually looks sympathetic. Then the mask of impassivity washes back over her face.

“Something tells me your baggage stretches far beyond the limits of the five boroughs,” she says. She takes a sip of her coffee. “Good luck. I’m sure it won’t be fun.”

“Thanks, Princess,” Cassandra says with a dramatic eye roll. “I’ll be on the lookout for the royal wedding invite.”

“I’ll save you a seat outside. Wouldn’t want you to burst into flames walking into church.”

Quinn is already turning towards the door again, but not before Cassandra catches sight of a playful smirk on her lips. She suppresses a small grin and retrieves her own coffee from the counter. One of these days, they might actually be friends.

xx

There are nights when Cassandra can’t sleep. When her mind races with thoughts of the future and she wonders where she’s going, what she’s working towards. What does a person live for when they don’t have a dream? What is the goal of it all? One year of sobriety? Ten? Sobriety is a milestone, but she can’t possibly build a life around it. Will she simply teach dance at NYADA until she’s too old to even demonstrate the steps?

Brody and Quinn are engaged. One day they’ll get married. Maybe they’ll have kids. Quinn will work towards being a respected literary editor and Brody will keep living the Broadway dream. But Cassandra doesn’t have any of those things right now. Does she even want them? And if she does, then with whom?

These are the nights that she remembers the benefits of alcoholism. Drinking yourself to sleep means that there’s little room for nighttime existential crises.

Cassandra rolls out of bed to find something to occupy herself with. If sleep won’t come, she can at least do something productive with her time. Sondheim raises his head to see what’s going on, but quickly goes back to sleep when he realizes that nothing exciting is happening. He’s used to this restlessness by now.

Her lesson plans are already done for the month and she organized her shoe closet the last time she had a bout of insomnia. She pads over to her dresser to find several boxes of jewelry that could use some attention. Most of it is costume jewelry that she’s accumulated over the years. There are a few of Rachel’s things still floating around in here, but they never really differentiated.

She dumps the boxes on her bed and begins the painstaking task of sorting each item into various piles. The amount of stuff that she hasn’t seen or worn in years is outrageous, but she can drop them off at a donation center in the morning. Her “to keep” ring pile grows larger as the minutes tick by. She’s always had a penchant for rings above all else.

Something catches her eye as she reaches the bottom of the pile, and Cassandra finds her heart leaping to her throat when she realizes what it is. She picks up the bracelet and holds it in her hand to examine it, the light from her bedside table reflecting off of the charms. 

The gold star is still there. She remembers the look on Rachel’s face when Cassandra gave it to her as a gift. She doesn’t often allow herself the opportunity to reminisce like this, but it’s late and she’s tired and her defenses are long gone for the night. She almost can’t believe how happy she was then, and the memory of it swells in her chest until she chokes on it. 

There are a few more charms on the bracelet that were gifted to Rachel for each of the shows she played in. There is nothing to signify her role in _Gone with the Wind_ , which is Cassandra’s fault entirely. She sifts through the charms that belonged to her, remembers her dad gifting each one on opening nights. She is nothing like the girl that he loved so much now, but she realizes with a sharp pain that he would still be proud of her. He always was.

She’s crying before she even knows it, and the tears on her cheeks make her head pound with anger. She has lost so much in her life because her own selfish pride. If her parents could see her now...if they knew how far she’d fallen and how little she has left, they’d be heartbroken.

Cassandra thinks of a small, vacant house in Iowa. Of Quinn’s wise words about how wide her damage is spread. Of Marcus’ knowing face as he urges her to make amends.

It’s 3am. Definitely not the time to be making any rash decisions. But what’s one more thing that she might hate herself for later in a long list of deep-seeded regrets?

Against her better judgement, Cassandra picks up her phone and dials.

xx

Every nasty thing that Cassandra ever said about Iowa is still true. It is a godforsaken, hopeless hell pit of desperation and despair, and Cassandra just so happens to have the displeasure of standing in front of Satan herself.

“You look like shit,” Melissa says by way of greeting, eyebrow arched as Cassandra steps out of an Uber.

“Shut up,” she snaps, though it doesn’t have quite the bite she’d like it to. She just spent four hours on a plane with no pills, no booze, and no girlfriend. She couldn’t even bring Sondheim with her because she couldn’t get a doctor to certify him as an emotional support animal fast enough. “You’re wearing a fucking turtleneck sweater.”

Melissa seems properly offended by that, which brings Cassandra a small amount of pleasure despite the nausea and anxiety still roiling through her.

“Are you going to be sick?” Melissa asks with obvious distaste. “I need you to be away from me if you’re going to puke. I thought they put a limit on the amount of drinks you can buy on a plane.”

Cassandra flips her off.

“I wish I was drinking. Might make putting up with you slightly more bearable.”

That catches Melissa’s attention. Of course, she’s always been a nosy bitch, and had Cassandra been in a proper state, she would never have let something so monumental slip in her presence.

“Wait, are you actually sober?” she asks, like she can’t even believe it, and honestly fuck her. If it didn’t mean having to get back on a plane, Cassandra would have already left this psychotic notion behind and chalked it up to inevitable failure.

“It’s none of your goddamn business,” Cassandra growls, and pushes her way past Melissa to the front door of the house. “Where’s the fucking key? Let’s get this over with.”

The outside of the house has been kept up to a bare minimum. It’s not in a state of disrepair, but it’s clear that no one has lived here for a long time. Their mother would never have allowed the flower beds to be empty. Their dad put a fresh coat of paint on the shutters every few summers, but it’s dull and peeling in a few places now. Cassandra has half a mind to dig at her sister about the look of the place, but she bites her tongue for now. There will be plenty of time for them to claw each other’s eyes out yet.

Melissa unlocks the door and lets them inside. Cassandra is not prepared for the wave of nostalgia that nearly knocks her over upon entry. It’s clear that Melissa is affected, too. The house is dusty and smells of must, but to Cassandra it feels like she could be sixteen again. 

There are a few pictures hanging in the entryway that neither of them cared to take after their parents died, mostly school portraits that Cassandra tries to ignore. She drifts further into the house, allowing her feet to lead her down well-tread paths through the living room and kitchen. There’s more here than she expected—Melissa cleared some of it out years ago, but she left whatever she didn’t want (whatever wasn’t valuable, most likely). It’s more than enough to reconstruct vivid memories in Cassandra’s mind.

“It’s probably best if we split up,” Melissa says, and nearly scares the absolute shit out of her. “There are boxes in the basement if there’s anything you want to take. Otherwise, we can just get rid of it all.”

“Fine,” Cassandra agrees. “I’ll start down here.”

Melissa looks like she has something else unpleasant to say, but in the end she just turns to go up the stairs and takes a box of trash bags with her. There are probably things upstairs that Cassandra should look at, but she’s still shaken from her trip, and she’s not ready to face it all just yet. So instead she grabs a bag and starts working her way through the kitchen.

She’s left alone with her thoughts for hours. The only sounds in the house are the shuffling of items as she sorts through them. She can barely hear Melissa, which means that she must have started in the attic. Cassandra has no idea how long she’s been at this by the time someone knocks on the door, but it’s long enough that the sound makes her jump out of her skin for the second time today. She sets aside her current trash bag to see who it is and finds a Carryout Courier on the other side.

“Melissa?” he asks, holding up a bag of food.

“Christ, no,” she snorts. 

He looks confused, so she digs a few dollars out of her pocket for a tip and takes the bag from him.

It’s delivery from a local pizza shop they used to eat at when they were kids. Cassandra finds a chopped salad in one container and an Italian sub in another. The sub has peppers on it, which Melissa would never think of eating, so Cassandra assumes that it’s hers. She tries not to allow herself to be surprised that Melissa still remembers her order. She texts her sister to let her know that the food is here and takes her sandwich to the back porch to eat. Melissa doesn’t join her, but the salad is gone when she comes back inside.

The night continues on in a similar fashion. Cassandra makes it through half of the downstairs by the end of the day. She has absolutely no intention of spending the night in this house, so when she starts to feel her body grow weary, she orders a car to take her to the nearby hotel where she’s got a room reserved. Melissa appears downstairs just as she’s about to leave.

“I’ll be back first thing tomorrow,” Cassandra says.

Melissa doesn’t say anything, but she nods, so Cassandra leaves and breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all if they can manage to keep their interactions to a bare minimum.

xx

Cassandra brings coffee and bagels the next day in a show of good faith, since Melissa fed her the day before. She has no idea what Melissa likes anymore, so she grabs a few varieties and brings cream and sugar for the coffee just in case.

“There’s breakfast if you want it,” she says, dropping the bag on the counter.

“I already ate,” Melissa says immediately. 

And God, she doesn’t know why that stings. It’s not like she put a lot of thought or effort into this. But the fact that she thought of Melissa at all is really more than she was willing to share, and now it’s been thrown carelessly back in her face, and she should have known that this interaction would end in regret, just like all the rest. But Cassandra is good at converting unwanted feelings into anger. It’s her specialty, really. So when Melissa looks like she maybe feels a little bad at her flippant response, like she might even apologize, Cassandra doesn’t give her the chance.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were dieting. Or is that baby weight still?” she asks, equipped with the ugliest smirk she can muster.

“You really are the nastiest person I’ve ever met,” Melissa says, face flushing red with anger. “Your bedroom is still full of shit. I’ll be in the attic.”

She storms off to go upstairs, and Cassandra deflates at the sound of the attic door slamming shut, and remembers how she woke up this morning thinking that maybe today would actually be pleasant. They’re off to a great start so far.

There is nothing in the world that would make Cassandra want to go up and face the wreckage of her past that likely still hides in her childhood bedroom. Still, she supposes there’s not much of a choice. The faster she gets this over with, the faster she can be out of here and be rid of her sister for good. She climbs each step like she’s on her way to the gallows, and barely resists the urge to scoff as she finally reaches her room. 

It hasn’t been touched since she left it. There are still posters of teenage icons from the 80s and 90s on her wall. Whatever knicknacks she left behind are covered in dust on her dresser. The bed is perfectly made, likely thanks to her mom. The sight of this place is overwhelming. She has no idea where to begin, no desire to sift through the belongings of a girl she no longer remembers. There’s panic rising steadily in her chest, but no one is here to save her from it. She certainly can’t trust Melissa. 

The only person who’s ever made her feel some semblance of calm when she gets like this is no longer available to her. Still, in order to get ahold of herself, Cassandra does the first thing she can think of. She snaps a picture of her room and sends it to Rachel.

_i know it’s a few years late, but since i got to see your childhood shrine, here’s mine_

The response is nearly immediate—approximately fifty exclamation points and question marks intermixed, followed quickly by another text.

_You made fun of me for my pink room! Yours is pink, too!_

There’s an angry face emoji at the end, and Cassandra laughs. Even now, a thousand miles apart, Rachel still has this effect on her.

_hey, i inherited this wallpaper. don’t blame me for someone else’s unfortunate decisions_

_A poor excuse if I ever heard one. Is your sister with you?_

Cassandra hears boxes shifting above her and rolls her eyes. For a moment, she’d almost forgotten.

 _sadly_ , she replies, followed by the green vomit emoji.

Rachel sends back the laughing face, and Cassandra imagines her, eyes sparkling with mirth while she tries very hard to look reproachful. She was never very good at it.

The conversation lightens her enough to take a deep breath and try to tackle the task at hand. There’s not much left in this room that she has any need for, so she begins sweeping things into a trash bag for donation or garbage. She doesn’t care which. It doesn’t take too long to get through since she’s not being sentimental.

When she reaches her closet, she finds a few old shoes and sheets. Underneath the sheets is a shoe box, decorated in a teenager’s hand, warning any unwanted viewers to keep out. Cassandra sighs. She’d forgotten about this.

Against her better judgement, she takes the box to her bed and opens it up. There’s a stack of pictures inside; old friends from school and shots of her and her parents after various performances. A few trinkets and friendship bracelets litter the bottom. Underneath the pictures is an old diary. She knows instantly that nothing good will come of reading it, but she does anyway.

There are things in these entries that she has no recollection of. She doesn’t even remember some of these names, but she can tell by the difference in her scribble when she was upset about something. Most of it seems completely inconsequential now. It’s all teenage angst and feuding with friends over something stupid. Until she gets to the middle, where she finds the entry about her kiss with Melissa’s boyfriend. Every entry after that is a buildup of sadness and regret, of wishing she could take it all back so that her sister will love her again.

Cassandra knows that she should stop reading. She knows where these entries lead. She knows how the book ends and she knows everything that comes after. But she can’t pull herself away. She reads until she gets to the day that Melissa broke her heart, and somehow it feels like it’s happening all over again. The tear stains on the diary are a testament to just how shattered she was at the time. Back then, she thought it was more about the betrayal of her boyfriend. She knows better now. It’s always been about her sister. Cassandra’s misstep was an honest mistake; Melissa’s was purposely designed to hurt her.

There’s a sound behind her, and Cassandra looks up to find Melissa standing in the doorway. Melissa’s eyes land on the diary and she instantly looks apprehensive. And Cassandra knows. She knows that Melissa knows what’s in the book. She knows that Melissa has read every word, that she knows full well what she never allowed Cassandra the chance to explain. She knows how broken Cassandra was by it all.

“You read this, right?” Cassandra asks, voice low. There’s still time to end this and walk away, but it’s not going to happen. She’s trapped by her own rage. Nothing is going to stop this from exploding now.

Melissa doesn’t answer. She’s watching Cassandra warily, like a person trapped in the gaze of a wild animal.

“Do you remember any of it? How you treated me after you walked in on your boyfriend kissing me? How you ignored me and acted like I wasn’t worth anything? How you _fucked_ _my boyfriend_ and made sure that I would see it?”

That seems to do the trick. Melissa’s eyes harden and she shakes her head.

“Here we go,” she says sarcastically. “I can’t wait to hear this hypocritical bullshit again.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassandra screams. “ _I’m_ a hypocrite? You blamed me for something that was never my fault and made every day of my life hell until you finally fucked off to college and let me breathe again!”

“Oh, come on Cassandra. Are you really telling me that you’re so naïve? Do you think he was doing you some sort of fucking favor out of the goodness of his heart?” Melissa spits. “He wanted to fuck you. Just like he fucked my best friend, and that girl that he sat next to in math class, and half the fucking cheerleading squad! You weren’t special to him. If you really didn’t know that, you’re stupider than I ever thought.”

“You treated me like shit for twenty-five years because your whore of a boyfriend wanted another notch in his headboard? I’m your sister, Melissa!”

Melissa’s face is so red that it looks like she might explode. It feels like déjà vu, like they’re reliving that day all over again.

“Just fucking shut up, Cassandra. If I hadn’t walked in on the two of you, you would have let him keep going until he got in your pants. Poor little Cassie, so sweet and innocent,” Melissa says mockingly. “So starved for attention that she’ll believe anyone who shows her the slightest bit of affection. Never willing to take responsibility for her actions. Have you gotten enough mileage out of blaming me for every problem in your shitty life? Have I been properly demonized to every person you come across? Have you dedicated enough drunken nights to me yet, or should I buy you a few more bottles so that you can drink yourself to death and blame me for that, too?”

Cassandra slaps her. She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until Melissa’s head is snapping to the side, and then they stare at each other in shock for several seconds as they level with the consequences of their vitriol.

“I’m leaving,” Cassandra says quietly. “Let me know when it’s time to sign the paperwork on the house.”

“What about your stuff?” Melissa calls after her.

“Burn it.”

She bursts out of the house, screen door slamming open. Her eyes are blurred with unshed tears, which only makes her angrier. She can’t spend one more second in this hell hole and she can’t spare one more thought to that woman. She pulls out her phone to order a car, and ends up calling Marcus instead.

“This is all bullshit,” she spits the second he answers the phone. “All of this making amends is a big fucking lie you assholes tell people to make them think that life can actually get better, but nothing gets better and people don’t change and this world is still a shit hole at the end of the day. I can’t _believe_ I ever let you convince me that I could work down some magical list that would make me a better person who would actually be worth loving some day.”

Cassandra cannot believe she’s crying on the phone to this man right now, screaming at him until her throat is sore. He tries to interject, but his words get lost as she screams at him to fuck off and hangs up the call. There are neighbors peeking out of their doors and windows, trying to get a good look at the lunatic yelling in the street. Cassandra can’t possibly bring herself to stand out here and wait for a car, so she starts running in literally any direction until she feels like she might collapse, sits on a bench outside of a convenience store, and finally gets a ride back to her hotel.

Marcus calls and texts her at least a hundred times. She ignores him all the way to the hotel bar.

xx

The next few hours are...not good.

Cassandra gets four shots down before she suddenly realizes how monumentally she’s fucking up, thinks about how this is definitely Melissa’s fault, takes another shot, and remembers that this is exactly what Melissa said she would do and maybe everything her sister said about her was right all along.

She stumbles back to her room and sticks her fingers down her throat until she pukes, praying to anyone who will listen that it can erase whatever she’s just done. As she slumps back against the bathroom wall, she thinks about Marcus and wonders if he’s assuming that she’s in a ditch somewhere by now. She thinks of Quinn’s disapproving stare, of Brody’s suffocating concern. Of Rachel’s wounded eyes.

When she finally crawls into bed, she passes out and sweats all night long while she dreams about being dead and watches as the world turns on without her, as no one notices or misses her or cares.

xx

It’s been a while since she’s woken up like this, with a mouth full of fuzz and eyes that retreat at the first sign of daylight. The second Cassandra tries to roll over, her stomach revolts and she has to trip her way to the bathroom. She barely manages to make it to the toilet, and even then she still gets it all over the seat. She pukes until there’s nothing left, and then she brushes her teeth and dry heaves over that. In the end, she makes it back to bed to swallow a few aspirin.

It’s another two hours before she opens her eyes again. She feels slightly better this time. At least well enough to check her phone. There’s no point in listening to her voicemails from Marcus, but she does shoot him a text to tell him she fell off of the wagon and she’s sorry for yelling at him.

 _It’s a relapse, not a reset_ , he tells her. _You can still move on._

And somehow, that’s comforting. She’s not sure if she believes it, entirely, but to know that this doesn’t mean failure is encouraging. Maybe she’s been looking at every set back as if it meant she has to start over from scratch. Maybe that’s why she always finds herself burning everything to the ground when things get hard. Maybe square one is all she knows, but she’s been getting familiar with progress lately and she doesn’t want to lose sight of that. Cassandra makes a note to buy him an apology dinner for being such an asshole.

She feels herself drifting back to sleep, but just before she does, she notices another text that she didn’t see before. It’s from Rachel.

_I wanted to let you know that I’m really proud of you. I know what you’re doing isn’t easy. If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. <3_

Cassandra sighs and drags herself out of bed.

xx

She finds Melissa sitting on the floor in their parents’ room with her back resting against the bed. There’s a photo album spread out in front of her, and she’s tracing the edge of a photo with her fingertip. It’s a picture of the two of them at one of Melissa’s cheer competitions. Cassandra is on Melissa’s back, arms wrapped loosely around her neck. She must have been about thirteen. They’re both laughing in the picture, happy to be near each other.

Cassandra clears her throat and Melissa jumps at the sound. She looks surprised to see her standing there, and then wary, like she’s afraid Cassandra has come to fight again. She hasn’t. Instead, she sits down beside her sister and pulls the album closer.

“I forgot how awful my teeth were before I got braces,” she says, tapping on the picture that Melissa had just been contemplating. “I remember how jealous I was when you got yours. I couldn’t wait to have mine, too.”

“I kept telling you that you wouldn’t want them once you had them,” Melissa recalls with a small smile. “You cried the first day you got them.”

“And you convinced Dad to stop and get us ice cream to make me feel better,” Cassandra supplies.

Melissa bites her bottom lip like she’s trying to decide whether or not to speak. Finally, she sighs and turns to face Cassandra.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and instantly looks like she might cry of relief. “I’m sorry for everything. For what I said yesterday and for the last twenty-odd years. After you left, I heard you talking on the phone to your sponsor, and I just...I suddenly couldn’t believe who I was. That I could watch you stand there and be in so much pain and just let you go. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know how I became this person.”

Cassandra exhales shakily. She’s been waiting a lifetime to hear this, but now that she’s hearing it, she has no idea what to do with it. She never actually expected to receive this apology.

“You were always so good at everything you did,” Melissa says fondly. “Mom and Dad knew that you were going to be a star. You were my baby sister and I felt like I was inferior to you all the time. Even my boyfriend wanted you more than he wanted me. I let that insecurity twist me into a monster. By the time I finally realized that I wasn’t even mad anymore, it had been so long that letting go didn’t feel like an option. I’d spent so many years hating you. If I tried to reconcile, it would mean that I’d wasted my life on something so meaningless. It was easier to pretend that you deserved it.”

“At that point, I probably did,” Cassandra admits. 

The weight of this moment feels so monumental that she almost wonders if she can follow through with it. Can it really be so easy to let go of twenty-five years of animosity? Does she even know how to say the words?

“I’m sorry, too. You were right—I did blame you for everything. It was so convenient to let all of my problems be your fault when you were being so mean to me anyway. And when you were gone, it was the next person’s fault, and the one after that, until finally it was Rachel’s fault. Once she left, I had no one else to blame. But I could drink, and I could forget, and I could convince myself that I never deserved happiness in the first place, so I never had to hope for something better.”

She wonders if this is what people feel like when they attend Confession. Is this how good it feels to lay all of your sins on someone else, to be forgiven? It’s like being reborn. Like shedding old skin and emerging from the carcass feeling too soft and too raw and too vulnerable, but also lighter and freer and renewed.

Melissa sheds a tear and then quickly wipes it away, like she’s still not sure how to be like this around her sister. Cassandra understands. It’s new territory for both of them.

“Did you drink last night?” Melissa asks.

“Yeah. It sucked a lot,” Cassandra admits.

Melissa frowns. “I feel responsible.”

Cassandra shrugs and looks away.

“You’re not. It’s on me. I knew this would be stressful and I came anyway. And I kept fighting even when I knew I shouldn’t. It’s not ideal, but I’ll be okay.”

Melissa glances back down at the photo album next to them and points out a picture of their parents.

“We really were such assholes,” she says, and Cassandra chuckles.

“Yeah, we were.”

“We can do better though, right?” Melissa asks.

Cassandra sighs and looks at her sister—examines the lines beginning to form around her mouth and eyes, thinks about the kids and the husband that Cassandra has never met, the decades of history that she’s missed out on. There’s no getting it back, but it’s not like either of them are dead yet. They still have time.

“I think we have to,” she says, and Melissa nods in agreement.

xx

It goes without saying, but the show is a success. From blogs to magazines, Rachel and her cast mates are getting a decent amount of recognition in the theatre world. She’s been interviewed at least a dozen times now, and gets recognized by someone on a near daily basis. Her social media has exploded, and her autograph is so practiced now that she barely has to think about it. Which doesn’t take away from the sheer awe that she feels every time someone asks for it. This is everything she’s ever dreamed of, and frankly it meets every expectation.

As if starring in a relatively successful Broadway show wasn’t enough, Rachel is now also a bridesmaid. (She had hoped to be Maid of Honor, but Quinn’s sister gets the title, despite the fact that Quinn says she doesn’t like her half as much as she likes Rachel. But Rachel understands.) She’s so happy for Quinn and Brody, and this wedding is an excuse for her to live vicariously through Quinn. It’s not that she really wants the big to-do like she used to, but she still likes the spectacle of it all.

The bridesmaids accompany Quinn to try on dresses, and Rachel marvels at the salesperson’s restraint. For all that they’ve grown up, they’re still just the same. Brittany flounces around the shop with Mercedes (who couldn’t make it from LA in time) on Facetime while Mercedes yells at her to sit down so she can see what Quinn is doing. Santana is positively devouring a full plate of hors d'oeuvres, and when she gets to the last of them, she asks if there’s more. Frannie looks like she she wants to murder them all, while Judy cries over every single dress that Quinn tries on.

They must sit through dozens of fittings while Mercedes offers helpful commentary from the phone, Brittany tells Quinn how hot she looks, and Santana complains that Quinn isn’t making good use of the tits she was blessed with. 

They’re working on their third hour when Quinn finally emerges from the dressing room in a simple, strapless dress with delicate green beadwork on the skirt. Her hair is down, but pulled back at the sides, and they place a tiara on her head with tiny green gems to match the dress. Rachel’s breath catches for a second at the sight of her, and even Santana shuts her mouth long enough to admire the vision that Quinn makes right now.

“Quinn, you look beautiful,” Rachel says, breaking the silence.

Quinn smiles, and then her mom bursts into tears and runs over to hug her.

“Okay, get ahold of yourself, Mom,” Frannie says with exasperation, but even she has unshed tears in her eyes.

“I guess this is the one,” Quinn chuckles.

“You better buy that damn dress,” Mercedes shouts, and Brittany nods seriously.

“Can’t believe you’re marrying hetero,” Santana grouses. “What a waste.”

Rachel smacks her on the arm, which starts a squabble that leads to Frannie kicking them all out of the shop while Quinn makes arrangements for her dress. It’s just as well—Rachel is starving.

xx

This is definitely one of the least convenient grocery stores in existence—it takes at least three different subway lines to get back to her apartment—but she’s got a full schedule and Kurt is out of town visiting his dad for the week and their refrigerator is embarrassingly empty, so. Rachel finds herself browsing the vegan aisle at Whole Foods, looking for anything that doesn’t require actual skill to cook. She’s exhausted and she hates grocery shopping.

Just as she’s contemplating a heat-and-eat meal with mild distaste, she turns to notice someone grabbing something from the shelf behind her and feels her heart stop. Cassie is standing there in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt with her hair pulled up in a messy bun. It’s ridiculous how effortless she looks, and Rachel would be infuriated by it if she wasn’t struck completely dumb by the sight of her.

Cassie turns and catches her staring. She looks surprised to see her, but then her expression shifts into an easy smile that Rachel feels like she hasn’t seen in a thousand years. It makes her heart ache so deeply that she finds herself at a complete loss for words.

“Hey, Schwim,” Cassie says, leaning against the handle of her cart.

“Cassie,” Rachel manages to say on an exhale, but she wasn’t prepared for this encounter or for just how good Cassie looks. She’s so relaxed and happy, it’s like a completely different person.

“Do you often shop at grocery stores this far away from your house? Or did you just come here for the eye candy?” Cassie asks pointedly.

It’s so stupid—such a Cassie thing to say, and she missed this part of her so much that all she can do is laugh.

“Neither of those are true, but the eye candy is a bonus,” she says. “You look amazing. How are you?”

Cassie shrugs. “For once, I can’t complain. I’m meeting up with my sponsor after this, though, so find me in a few hours and I might change my tune.”

“Isn’t your sponsor supposed to be helpful?” Rachel asks with concern.

“Helpful, and a huge pain in my ass, apparently. He loves a lecture,” Cassie says.

“Sometimes you need a lecture, Cassie,” Rachel says with a grin, and receives an eye roll in return. “How’s Melissa?”

Cassie huffs. “Another pain in my ass. Much more palatable now that the house sold, though. She’s still got the biggest stick up her ass that I’ve ever seen, but...we’re trying.”

“It’s great that you two are working on your relationship.” Rachel observes Cassie for a moment and thinks about all of the things she’s missed over the last year. She tries not to let it make her sad. “I’m really happy for you. You’ve done so many great things.”

 _Without me_ goes unspoken, but Cassie seems to hear it anyway. 

“Done a lot of bad things, too, Schwimmer. But I guess even an old washed up wannabe can learn something new,” she says with a small smile. 

Rachel grimaces at the memory of the day she called Cassie exactly that. It was only true because Cassie believed it of herself, but Rachel hasn’t felt that way in a very long time. She finds it hard to reconcile those old days with what she knows about Cassie now, and all the things they’ve shared together. Her throat swells with emotion, and there are so many things that she wants to say. She wants to pour her heart out, to tell Cassie about how she thinks about her more often than not, how she misses waking up to a smirk and a gravelly voice each morning, and how she still believes in the dream of having it all. How the only person she’s ever wanted that with was Cassie.

“Cassie…” she starts, but Cassie cuts her off with a shake of her head.

“Don’t, Schwimmer,” she says firmly, and she looks devastated by her own words. “I can’t.”

“Can’t...ever?” Rachel asks, voice cracking as tears prick at her eyes.

“I don’t know. At least not right now,” Cassie says.

Rachel’s heart crushes under the weight of that answer. There’s nothing that she can say right now that won’t end in tears, so she doesn’t say anything at all.

“I have to get back to the dog,” Cassie tells her. “You should visit him soon, by the way. He misses you.”

She leaves Rachel with one final look, and Rachel sees so much sadness there. She knows that Cassie has feelings for her still. She has to. But whatever’s holding her back is stronger than either of them right now.

She wonders if she has the patience to hang on.

xx

Cassandra is moodier than usual during her meeting with Marcus, which is probably saying something considering the fact that she’s been in pretty good spirits since she settled in after her trip to Iowa. Marcus is eating like this will be his last meal, chatting happily about his kid making the varsity lacrosse team or something. He might as well be talking to himself for as much as Cassandra is participating.

“Are you going to eat that, or did you intend to stare it off of your plate?” he asks, gesturing to the turkey wrap in front of her.

Cassandra manages a half-hearted glare, so he shrugs and leaves it alone.

“You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“You know that I don’t,” Cassandra says icily.

“Well then what are we doing here since you’re not eating or talking?” Marcus asks.

Cassandra sighs. He’s right, of course. It’s not like she’s required to have lunch with him. She supposes that she’s become fond of him over the course of their journey together. She’d rather die than say that to his face, but she’s pretty sure he knows anyway.

“How long did you wait before you started dating again?” she asks reluctantly. 

Marcus’ eyebrows raise at that, like that was the last thing he was expecting her to say.

“I didn’t, actually. I was already married when I went through the program. Lucky that my wife was willing to put up with my busted ass through all of that,” he admits. “Does this have something to do with a certain young Broadway star?”

Cassandra shoots him a dangerous look. She’s definitely not talking to him about Rachel right now. By now, he understands the intricacies of her irritation, so he doesn’t push.

“Look, there’s no hard and fast rule for dating with alcoholism. For some people, relationships can be really uplifting and provide a level of support that helps them stay on track. For others, it’s an added stressor that can act as a trigger. And there’s definitely no handbook for dating an ex, no matter who you are.”

It’s exactly the kind of open-ended bullshit answer she wasn’t looking for, but if she truly wanted something else, she should never have asked him in the first place.

“You’re a strong, smart woman, Cassandra. You just have to do what feels right. And trust yourself to know what that is,” Marcus finishes.

Cassandra has not trusted herself once to know what’s right in at least a decade. She not sure that she can start now. Especially when it comes to her love life. 

(Especially when it comes to Rachel.)

xx

The end of the school year arrives, and Cassandra has no idea when the hell it became May. End of Spring means finals season, and between planning, observing, and grading, it pretty much takes up all of her time for the entire month. She likes it when classes finally let out for the year. It means that she gets to relax a bit, since she only teaches one or two classes during the summer. She gets the studio to herself a lot more, too.

Not today, though, because as soon as she finishes a particularly stirring number that she’s thinking about using during her next lesson just to make a point, she notices a man standing in the doorway watching her. Cassandra’s first instinct is to find something heavy or sharp, just in case, but the guy gives her an easy smile and approaches with his hand outstretched. Sondheim is in the corner of the studio watching them from his spot in the sun, making absolutely no attempt to save her should this guy be a murderer. 

“Sorry to interrupt your practice,” he says as they shake hands. “I’m Jaime—Alex’s dad.”

Now that he mentions it, she can see the resemblance. She doesn’t often get visits from parents, since most of her kids come from out of state, but Alex actually passed her class this semester, so she has no idea why this guy is showing up now.

“What can I do for you, Jaime,” she asks as politely as possible. She’s sweaty from dancing, and she hates being interrupted and forced to speak to random strangers.

“Well, I wanted to start by saying thank you. Alex has not been able to stop talking about you. She says you’re the best teacher she’s ever had. And from what I can see, your class has done wonders for her confidence,” Jaime explains.

Cassandra smiles and tries her hardest not to brush off his words. She knows she’s a good teacher and this type of praise always makes her extremely uncomfortable. Still, the last thing she needs is to piss off a precious NYADA parent. Carmen would have her head for that.

“Thanks. I’m glad she enjoyed it. She’s a good kid. Hard worker.”

Jaime beams at that. “When she told me who you were, I have to admit I was a little skeptical. But she just kept talking about you and telling me about how you’re the best dancer she’s ever met, so I had to come see you for myself. Did you choreograph that routine you were just doing?”

Cassandra nods. She’s getting bored with this conversation now and tries to think of an excuse to get out of here before she ends up trapped in an hour-long conversation.

“Impressive,” Jaime says. “So listen, I don’t want to hold you up too long. Have you ever choreographed for theatre before?”

“For Broadway, you mean?” Cassandra asks, suddenly very interested. Jaime nods intently. “No. I filled in for a few of the productions here at NYADA years ago, but not Broadway.”

“Do you want to?” is his next question, and Cassandra raises an eyebrow. “I’m working on a production and I want the best. I haven’t been impressed with most of the choreographers I’ve worked with in the past, but I have a good feeling about you.”

For a moment, she stares at him like he’s insane (which, he must be, because who the hell walks into a random dance studio and offers a stranger a job like this?). 

“You know who I am, right?” Cassandra asks incredulously.

Jaime shrugs. “Everybody loves a comeback, right? Or are you still that woman swinging a baseball bat in a YouTube video from fifteen years ago?”

Cassandra doesn’t respond, and after a moment Jaime sighs.

“Think about it, will you?” he says, handing her a business card. “I’ll wait until next Friday.”

He’s gone just as quickly as he came, leaving Cassandra to stare down at the piece of cardstock in her hand and wonder what the fuck just happened.

xx

“You have say yes,” Brody says immediately.

He’s trying on tuxes, and Cassandra’s only here because he begged her and she’s really trying to be a better friend. Besides, he played to her ego by telling her she’s got the best taste out of everyone he knows.

“And why would I do that?” Cassandra asks blithely, watching as he screws with his bow tie in the mirror.

“Come on, Cass, are you serious? An opportunity like this just falls into your lap and you want to turn it down? You love Broadway.”

“ _Loved_ ,” Cassandra corrects. “Past tense. I’m sure I don’t have to elaborate.”

Brody just shoots her a look in the mirror, and he’s either been practicing his withering glares, or he’s just been with Quinn for so long that he just picked it up through osmosis.

“That’s not even a good lie,” he says. “Everyone knows you’re the best there is. Are you really going to deprive the masses of your genius?”

“Don’t try to flatter me, Brody. You’re terrible at it,” Cassandra says, but she can’t suppress her grin. “And shut up about this. I left that life behind a long time ago.”

He definitely has more to say, but he respects her wishes and shuts his mouth. Cassandra walks over to adjust his tie for him.

“Here, take this fucking cumberbund off. You look like an idiot,” she tuts.

Brody grins. “See? Told you I needed your help.”

xx

She waits until the last day to call the number on the business card.

Cassandra knows exactly what she’s going to say when Jaime picks up. She has the words all planned out to turn down the job.

Jaime answers with a jaunty greeting, and Cassandra’s mouth immediately betrays her.

“I’ll do it,” she says, and then rolls her eyes so hard at her own stupidity that they’re likely to get stuck in the back of her head.

She can practically hear his smile through the phone.

“Perfect. I’ll see you in a few days.”

xx

Quinn and Brody get married in mid-July. Brody asks Cassandra to be a groomsman, and even says he’s fine with a dry bachelor party, but Cassandra turns him down. She’s not going to let him ruin all of his fun just to include her. Besides, with the exception of Kurt, all of his friends are idiots. Maybe a decade ago she would have accepted, thrown him a party he’d never remember and sleep with his best friend, but she’s past that point in her life now.

Instead, she convinces Marcus to go as her date, because she’ll be damned if she’s going to attend any wedding solo. The church is very Quinn—large and gothic and Catholic, with vaulted ceilings and enough stained glass to light up a Pride parade. Cassandra writes a snarky entry in the guest book addressed to Princess Peach and the Brolden Retriever. Then they choose a pew somewhere in the middle, on Brody’s side of the aisle, of course.

Cassandra watches the guests filter in and points out the ones she knows to Marcus, quietly spilling all of the gossip in order to keep herself occupied. Half the fucking glee club is here, of course, including their creepy ass instructor and that idiot bad boy wannabe they call Puck.

Brody and his groomsmen enter from the side and position themselves near the pulpit. Brody keeps shifting his feet and glancing around the room nervously, but he looks good. After what feels like another year and a half of bland organ music, the mood finally shifts and everyone turns around to watch little Beth tossing petals down the aisle. Puck is already crying at the sight of his kid as a flower girl. Shelby receives Beth once she reaches the front of the room and holds her in her lap. 

The bridesmaids follow soon after—Mercedes, Brittany, Santana, and Rachel. Cassandra’s breath stutters in her chest at the sight of Rachel in her green bridesmaid’s dress. She’s practically glowing, she’s smiling so hard, and this might as well be her wedding for as much as she’s soaking in this attention. Marcus leans over to whisper in her ear as soon as Rachel takes her place at the front.

“So that’s the one, huh?” he asks.

“Fuck off,” Cassandra hisses through her teeth. 

Marcus grins and turns his attention back to the Maid of Honor—a girl whose perpetually pinched face matches Quinn’s so precisely that they must be related. The music shifts once she’s in place, and everyone stands as the bride enters the room.

Cassandra has to hand it to her: Quinn looks good in a wedding dress. There’s something about her entire aura that seems to have shifted, almost like she just emerged from a woodland fairy realm after having spent the last ten centuries there. The green accents in her dress and tiara bring out her eyes, and her hair flows down her back in gentle waves. Brody looks like he’s been struck stupid by the sight of her. 

Quinn’s mother accompanies her to the front until she’s standing beside Brody, and then the ceremony begins. Cassandra finds weddings to be incredibly stupid, but it seems like Quinn and Brody have blessedly opted for the shortest mass that the church would allow. Everyone cries when the two of them exchange vows, including Rachel (of course), but her gaze flits around the church until she finally locks eyes with Cassandra. She wants to look away, to not let this moment be significant, but it doesn’t seem possible. Rachel smiles, and it’s already reflected on Cassandra’s face before she even realizes it.

There’s an open bar at the reception, which is fine. Cassandra’s tempted, but she doesn’t feel at risk. Having Marcus there makes it that much easier. The fact that there’s no assigned seating definitely helps. She gravitates towards Shelby, the one person here that she both knows and can tolerate for an extended time. The two chat during dinner while Marcus entertains Beth. Shelby doesn’t even elude to the fact that Rachel and Cassandra have broken up—a kindness that Cassandra is grateful for.

After dinner, the wedding party breaks away from their table. Brody makes his way over to see her, and she introduces him to Marcus.

“You doing okay?” Brody asks her, glancing towards the bar at the far side of the room.

“Don’t worry about me, hot stuff,” Cassandra says with a smile. “You still sure about your decision to get hitched?”

“Can’t imagine doing anything else,” Brody says with a grin.

“I’m happy for you,” Cassandra says sincerely.

Quinn chooses that moment to join them, curling her hand around Brody’s neck.

“Looking good, Princess,” Cassandra tells her.

“Yeah, you too,” Quinn replies, and Cassandra winks.

Beth and Shelby return from the dessert table then, and Quinn greets Beth with a big smile, crouching down to give her a hug. Cassandra decides that it’s a good time to take a break. She excuses herself to go to the bathroom, where she finds Brittany and Santana making out against the sink. Kurt is fixing his hair in the mirror as if there’s not an amateur porn playing out right next to him. Cassandra’s known these idiots long enough that it really doesn’t phase her, but she sighs and leans against the door just the same.

“Nice to see you again, Cassie,” Kurt says blithely.

“Sparkles,” Cassandra replies. “Are you and the Lesbians Gone Wild finished yet?”

Santana tips her mouth away from Brittany to shoot her a withering glare.

“Listen, you boozy bitch—”

“Santana,” Brittany chides, and then settles her pale gaze on Cassandra. “Quinn said you’re doing better. I’m glad. You’re way too hot to die of alcohol poisoning.”

“Thanks,” Cassandra says dryly.

“Anyway, since you’re single now—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence, Brittany,” Kurt interjects.

“Whatever,” Santana says with an eye roll. “She couldn’t handle us anyway. Come on, Brit.”

She takes Brittany by the hand and leads her out of the bathroom. Cassandra steps out of the way and waves at them as they pass. Kurt doesn’t move until Cassandra raises an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, right,” he says, and quickly leaves the restroom.

When Cassandra returns, she heads for the bar to get a drink and orders a club soda with grenadine.

“If anyone can class up a Shirley Temple, it’s you.”

Cassandra turns to find Rachel standing just behind her. She looks just as pretty now as she did walking down the aisle. She smiles shyly, and Cassandra feels that familiar warmth spread in her chest. It’s one that Rachel used to spark so often within her. Feeling it again after so long is like finding a trusty keepsake that she thought she’d lost long ago, but had been waiting patiently right where she’d left it all along.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of being classy,” Cassandra replies, tipping the bartender as she receives her drink.

“Well you look incredible,” Rachel says.

“You stole my line, Schwimmer,” Cassandra jokes. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Rachel blushes and takes a sip of her drink. 

“It was a really nice wedding,” she says.

Maybe it’s good that she changes the subject. Cassandra’s not sure that the two of them standing around complimenting each other would lead to anything productive right now.

“It was very Quinn,” Cassandra says. Rachel tsks. “What? The Princess and I have been playing nice lately, but she earned her nickname.”

Rachel laughs and takes her by the arm. “Come on. I’m pretty sure I’m contractually obligated to stay here until the end, and we have a lot to catch up on.”

Cassandra allows herself to be led to a table with a couple of older people who are so engrossed in their own conversation that they have no mind to pay attention to them. Rachel starts by asking about her trip to Iowa (of course, because Rachel never does anything half way), so Cassandra tells her about it without going into too much detail about her fight with Melissa or just how terrible her relapse was that night. Rachel reacts dramatically, and Cassandra realizes just how much she’s missed talking to her like this.

They chat for a while, moving on to Rachel’s experience with budding Broadway fame (she didn’t win the Tony, but she got _invited_ and it was amazing), and just what happened with Emily after that awkward kiss they shared on opening night. Cassandra laughs her ass off when Rachel tells her that Emily has definitely hooked up with Brittany and Santana at least twice since then, and possibly even separately.

Rachel asks how things are at NYADA. Boring now that she’s being nice to her students, Cassandra tells her, but everything is fine. She purposely doesn’t mention the work she’s been doing on Jaime’s show because it’s still very new and she’s not sure if it’s going to stick yet.

They’re only really interrupted when some of the Gleeks take over the microphone and start belting out some truly terrible ballads. Rachel looks at them wistfully, like she truly can’t believe she’s not up there covering Celine’s greatest hits or something. And Christ, not one of those kids can stand to be in a room without attracting attention to themselves even years after they’ve graduated high school. Santana and Quinn get together to do _Take My Breath Away_ —apparently a reprise from a duet they did at prom—and Rachel actually fucking sighs like she’s been left without a date at a school dance. Cassandra rolls her eyes and ignores the voice in her head telling her that she’ll regret this later.

“Do you want to dance, Schwimmer?” she asks.

Rachel blinks at her dumbly for a moment, so Cassandra stands up and holds out her hand. After a few seconds, Rachel finally takes it, and they walk out onto the dance floor together. Cassandra puts her arms around Rachel‘s neck. Rachel hesitates briefly before circling her arms around Cassandra’s waist. 

They sway in time with the music, and normally Cassandra hates this kind of dancing (because it’s not really dancing), but Rachel still wears the same perfume and her eyes are darkened by the dim lighting of the dance floor. Cassandra wonders too late if maybe this was a bad idea, but her hand is already cupping the back of Rachel’s neck, fingers playing with the fine hairs there and nails scratching just slightly. She knows it’s a weakness for Rachel, who sighs contentedly and leans in, resting her head against Cassandra’s chest. She fits like they were meant for this, inevitable and magnetic. Cassandra closes her eyes and allows herself to breathe; to enjoy this moment without guilt or panic or self-loathing. To believe that she actually deserves this peace.

When she opens her eyes, Rachel is looking up at her with eyes that are absolutely overflowing with emotion. There’s no way to stop whatever’s going to come out of her mouth. Maybe she doesn’t even want to. Maybe she’s finally ready to hear it.

“I miss you,” she says.

Cassandra can’t really hear her over Quinn and Santana, but she sees the words form on her lips.

“Me, too,” she agrees, and reaches up to brush a few strands of hair out of Rachel’s eye.

The song comes to a close and the lights come up to flood the room. Everyone cheers for the new bride and her friend, and the two of them hug before returning to their significant others. Cassandra disentangles from Rachel and tries to ignore the disappointment on her face.

“You should get up there and show them how it’s done. The night’s not complete without a Rachel Berry solo performance.”

Rachel smiles and nods. As if by fate, Kurt appears from the crowd to drag Rachel off for a duet. Cassandra lets her go and backs away from the dance floor. She finds Marcus waiting for her by their table.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Cassandra answers, and finds that it’s actually true. “Ready to get the hell out of here, though.”

“Good. I could go for some onion rings.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes and grabs her wallet. “Of course you could. Let’s go.”

They exit quietly through the side. Cassandra knows she should say goodbye, but she doesn’t want to make a scene of her departure. She’ll text Brody and Rachel to let them know she left. She and Marcus head outside to grab a taxi.

“Thanks for coming,” Cassandra says while they wait.

Marcus just grins and pats her on the shoulder.

xx

Rachel’s contract for _Gone with the Wind_ comes to a close at the end of the summer, but she has another part lined up for a show called _Falling for the Wrong One_ —a romantic comedy about a girl who tries to subvert a curse on her love life cast by a vengeful neighbor. It’s a perfect opportunity to showcase her range. There was very little comedy in _GwtW_ , and if Rachel ever expects to be cast as Fanny Brice in her lifetime, she needs to display her ability to pivot.

In the meantime, she has a small window of free time with which to pursue other interests. The dance with with Cassie at Quinn’s wedding has been on her mind daily since it happened. They’ve been texting pretty frequently, but both have been busy with work, so they haven’t been able to meet up yet. So when the opportunity presents itself, Rachel makes plans to visit with Sondheim (and Cassie) at the park on a Wednesday afternoon.

Sondheim barks and pulls on his leash when he sees her. Rachel drops to her knees and scoops him up in her arms, laughing as he licks every available inch of her face. He wiggles out of her grasp and runs back to Cassie, who looks like she’s trying very hard not to smile too much behind her sunglasses, jumping up as if to make sure that she knows Rachel is here.

“I guess he’s happy to see you,” Cassie says.

“I missed you, too,” Rachel says, scratching his belly when he rolls over for her. “You, too, of course,” she adds to Cassie, who just smirks.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re here for me, Schwimmer. I know he’s the main attraction.”

“He’s not the one I’m attracted to,” Rachel replies without thinking, then feels her face grow hot at Cassie’s raised eyebrow.

“Openly flirting, Schwimmer? I’m impressed,” Cassie says. Rachel shrugs. 

She takes the leash from Cassie and plays with Sondheim for a bit while Cassie watches from the park bench. When he finally drops to Cassie’s feet in the shade, Rachel sits beside her

“Brody asked me to come with you guys to Callbacks this weekend to celebrate the end of your run on _Gone with the Wind_ ,” Cassie tells her.

“Will you?” Rachel asks.

“I’m thinking about it,” Cassie replies with a shrug. She bends over to give Sondheim some water.

“Will you be okay there?” Rachel says when she’s finished.

Cassie looks at her, but Rachel can’t see her expression through her sunglasses.

“I guess I have to rejoin society eventually. I feel fine about it.”

Rachel reaches out to squeeze her hand. “I’ll do whatever you need to be comfortable.”

“Thanks, Schwim,” Cassie says, and squeezes back.

xx

Cassie does show up to Callbacks. Rachel is abstaining from alcohol for the evening, but her body is abuzz with nervous jitters. It’s not a date, but it still feels important, almost like how it used to be before they broke up. Cassie looks good in skinny black jeans, hair done in a fishtail over her shoulder. She greets Rachel with a kiss on the cheek and exchanges friendly banter with Quinn, Kurt, Brody, and Santana. Brittany is already on stage singing Ariana Grande with Jonathan.

Between their group, they occupy the stage for most of the night. The usual college age patrons don’t seem to mind, especially when Rachel gets up to do some Kelly Clarkson. A few of the NYADA students ask for her autograph on her way back to the table, which results in Santana yelling across the bar that she’s selling genuine Rachel Berry autographs for five bucks a pop until Rachel finally gets her to shut up.

It’s a good night that makes Rachel feel grateful to be surrounded by the best friends that anyone could ask for. She and Cassie spend half the night pretending not to blatantly flirt with each other, “accidentally” brushing hands and leaning in close to speak to one another over the music. Brody badgers Cassie to perform all night until she finally treats him to the most spectacular eye roll on the planet and gets up with a long-suffering sigh.

Rachel’s breath stutters in her chest when Cassie steps into the lights on stage. She realizes that she’s never actually seen Cassie on a stage before, but she practically glows in the spotlight. Rachel thinks of the wasted career, of how Cassie was blacklisted from an industry that sorely needed her but never deserved her.

“Is that Miss July?” someone asks from behind Rachel, but she can’t hear the answer over the music starting up.

Cassie performs _What A Catch, Donnie_ by Fall Out Boy, a song that Rachel has never heard before today. The piano is melancholy and Cassie’s voice is low and gravelly as she sings. Rachel’s lungs squeeze until she can hardly breathe as she listens to the lyrics and the way that the pain in Cassie’s voice curls around them. Cassie can’t see her from the stage, but she’s looking in Rachel’s general direction and Rachel knows without a doubt that this song is for her—an apology, maybe, but one that Rachel can’t bear to hear in a crowd full of people when her heart is tearing open and there are tears in her eyes.

“Holy shit,” the person from before mutters when the song is over, and if Rachel could speak she thinks she’d have to agree.

They don’t talk about it when Cassie returns from the stage, but Rachel’s hand finds Cassie’s under the table and their fingers lace together for a few moments. Rachel knows from the fluttering of her heart that she never once fell out of love with Cassandra July.

xx

So working on this show is actually not that bad. Cassandra likes being a teacher—likes the planning and the calculation and the tangible reward of watching her students get better as the year progresses—but this is a different level of engagement that she didn’t realize she was missing until now. It’s not the same as being on stage, not by a long shot, but she gets to spend hours pouring over the script with the director and composer, planning out choreography and rough sketching the blocking. It’s weird to be working on a show like this and not feeling constant panic rising in her chest or like she’s settling for less. She’d convinced herself that a career on Broadway was never going to happen for her, but the world has been determined to prove her wrong all year, and maybe this is just one more thing to add to the list.

Jaime calls a meeting for the whole cast and crew to meet once auditions are over and casting has been finalized. They meet at the theatre, where Jaime and Simone (their director) get up and give them a little spiel about how happy and excited they are about the potential for this show and the story it has to tell. They nearly fill all of the seats on the theatre floor, and Cassandra hasn’t met half of these people yet,

so she hangs near the back while Simone announces all of their casting choices and has each actor stand when their name is called.

“And finally,” Simone says with a large grin, “taking the lead as our girl Jenny—you may recognize her from her recent turn as Scarlett in _Gone with the Wind_ —please give it up for Rachel Berry!”

Cassandra chokes on her water as the room erupts in applause and her ex-girlfriend stands up and waves with a smile big enough to swallow a grown human whole. Rachel doesn’t see her, which is probably for the best. Cassandra needs a moment to really digest the fact that she and Rachel are going to be working together.

They start introducing the crew next, and Cassandra knows that she only has a few precious minutes before Rachel realizes that she’s here, so she tries to clear her throat and catch her breath before she makes an ass out of herself.

“And for our lead choreographer, we’re really lucky to have one of the greatest dancers—no, one of the greatest _performers_ —of our time here to whip your asses into shape,” Jaime says. “Give us a round of applause for Miss Cassandra July.”

Rachel’s head whips around so fucking fast that Cassandra’s pretty sure she’s going to need to see a doctor later. Cassandra stands and shoots a small smile in Rachel’s direction as the room applauds for her. Honestly, some of the people in this room are too young to even know who she is, so there’s a lot less whispering than she might have anticipated. A few of the older crew members raise an eyebrow, but the reception is generally okay.

They slog through the rest of the introductions before Jaime and Simone bring in a bunch of catering and tell them to use the time to socialize and get to know each other. Cassandra barely makes it out of her seat before Rachel is in front of her, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Hello? You didn’t tell me you were choreographing for shows now!” she exclaims. “This is incredible! How did it happen? Tell me everything.”

Cassandra opens her mouth to say something witty, maybe to tell Rachel to tone down her Patty Simcox impression, before she realizes just how...light she feels. She wants to share this with Rachel, and she wants to hear all about how Rachel got this part, and tell her everything she’s found out so far since she started working on this production. They’ve come a long way since Rachel was first cast as Scarlett, and this is how it should have felt for her all along, but maybe late is better than never in this instance.

“Do you want to go get a coffee with me after this?” Cassandra asks.

Rachel clearly isn’t expecting that, since it obviously isn’t an answer to her question, so it takes her a moment to respond. She smiles softly and nods.

“I’d love to,” she says.

They’re quickly interrupted by Jaime, who is happy to discover that they already know each other. Rachel fumbles when he asks how, but Cassandra just tells him that she taught Rachel at NYADA and they’ve been close ever since. 

“Perfect,” he says with a toothy grin. “So you should already be familiar with each other’s moves.”

“Deeply familiar,” Cassandra says sweetly, and Rachel’s blush is enough to outshine the red upholstery on their seats.

xx

It’s a nice day, so they take their coffee to go and walk around with it. It doesn’t take much prompting to get Rachel talking at length about her audition process for the show and how much she loves the script and how excited she is to be working together like this. Cassandra tells her about how Jaime ambushed her at the studio to offer her this job and how she thought it would be a lot scarier than it is.

“You know,” Rachel begins after some quiet contemplation, “I never really apologized.”

“Hmm, is that the can of worms you want to open right now, Schwimmer?” Cassandra asks apprehensively. They’ve been getting along so well lately, and this is truly one of the last bricks left in the old ruined fortress that was their relationship before.

“I think if I’d opened it a lot sooner, things could have been different for us,” Rachel says seriously. “Despite my caring nature, I’ve been known to be incredibly self-obsessed, especially when it comes to my success. I wanted so badly to live out my dream that I wasn’t willing to allow anything to get in the way of that, including you. So I suppressed and ignored, and when that didn’t work, I tried to fix whatever wasn’t working for me. I thought I knew what was best for you, even when you tried to warn me otherwise. I really wasn’t there to support you when you needed me the most and I’m sorry for that.”

Cassandra isn’t sure how she thought this would feel, but receiving this apology from Rachel is like the permission she needs to let go of a whole host of self-hatred she’s been hanging onto for months now. Yes, a lot of the things that happened between them were her fault, but Rachel was at fault, too. The end of their relationship wasn’t just another Cassandra July fuck up. It was a mutual failure on both of their parts to communicate and respect each other, and that understanding makes all the difference.

“Thanks, Schwimmer,” she says sincerely. “It was best that you left. Nothing would have gotten better if you hadn’t. I was an asshole about everything. I’m sorry, too.”

“You know, I think we’re lucky,” Rachel says. “Some people never get a second chance.”

There’s little room for argument there. Rachel has always been her second chance. The real question is whether or not she gets to have a second chance with Rachel.

xx

There was always the definite possibility that the two of them working together could have been a complete disaster. It’s not—mostly, it’s sort of like having Rachel in class again, only this time Rachel gives an occasional suggestion if something isn’t working for her, and Cassandra doesn’t spend half of her time trying to rip Rachel’s confidence to shreds. They work pretty well together, but sometimes Rachel will mess up on a step and Cassandra will have to move in close to correct it. Cassandra is pretty sure she’s doing it on purpose, just based on the cheeky smile that Rachel sends her when Cassandra rolls her eyes and tells her she’s doing it wrong. Not that she minds. Cassandra has always enjoyed a fair bit of sexual tension.

They go to an arts festival with Quinn, Santana, and Brittany. Not as a couple, but honestly they walk so close the whole time that they might as well be attached at the hip. When Rachel buys an ice cream, she insists that Cassandra try it and feeds it to her herself.

“Ugh, gross,” Santana grouses with crossed arms and a disgusted eye roll. “Can you two please fuck already so we can all stop being subjected to your sexless flirting?”

“Mind your own business, Selena Gomez,” Cassandra snaps, and Quinn smirks. “Don’t pretend like that one isn’t going right into your spank bank.”

Santana flips her off and utters a string of profanities in both English and Spanish, which is how Cassandra knows that she’s won that round.

Afterwards, Rachel follows Cassandra back to her apartment to visit with Sondheim. There’s a buzz of nervousness about them on the train to Soho. Rachel hasn’t been to the apartment since she left. Both of them are well aware of how many memories that place holds for them. Cassandra is used to living with them, but not with Rachel present. And not when they’re in this weird state of flirtatiousness, where glances end in a blush and touches are often hesitant enough to be brushed off as accident if necessary.

Sondheim jumps on Rachel as soon as she steps through the door, completely ignoring Cassandra’s presence in favor of his other mom. Cassandra busies herself making coffee while Rachel plays with the dog. She taps her nails on the counter and watches them with a slight frown on her face, trying not to be too disturbed by how normal this feels. Any minute now, Rachel could flounce over and peck her on the lips before heading out to meet up with Kurt. She could easily disappear into the bathroom to begin her hour-long nightly ritual before climbing into bed.

“The place looks nice,” Rachel says, and she’s closer than Cassandra realized, leaning against the counter in front of her. “Very clean.”

“It’s surprising how much you can accomplish when you don’t sleep some nights,” Cassandra quips. “Probably could’ve been fluent in a second language by now, but I don’t have that kind of focus.”

“Who needs Spanish when you can let your perfectly-organized Jimmy Choos do the talking?” Rachel grins.

“Right,” Cassandra laughs. “I mean, it worked on you, didn’t it?”

“It still does,” Rachel says, and then smoothes out her dress and looks away. “Anyway, I guess I should get out of here. I have an early call time tomorrow and I haven’t done any laundry for a week. Thanks for coming out with me today.” 

She stands on her tip toes for a hug, and Cassandra wraps her arms around Rachel’s waist and breathes in. Her body feels buzzy and her stomach is unsettled. She watches Rachel turn toward the door and suddenly wonders how many times she’s going to let the girl walk away. How many more times does she have before Rachel doesn’t come back anymore? How much confirmation does she need that this is what she wants—what they both want—before she allows herself to try again?

“Rachel,” she calls, and reaches out to grasp her arm.

That touch is a catalyst. Rachel spins around and there’s a split second where Cassandra sees in her eyes exactly what’s going to happen next. They crash into one another so hard that it nearly knocks her backwards—mouths colliding, stealing the breath from them both. Cassandra’s body ignites instantly. She kisses Rachel with a thousand apologies and a thousand more promises, pressing her against the counter until she melts. Cassandra digs her fingers into Rachel’s scalp and Rachel’s breath hitches. She reaches for any part of Cassandra that she can find, hands trailing over her shoulders, back, hips, hair, until she finally rips her mouth away.

“Cassie,” she gasps, eyes dark and wild, “take me to bed.”

Cassandra’s body responds to the command like she was programmed for it. She lifts Rachel up to straddle her hips and carries her over, depositing her carefully onto the bed before climbing on top of her. They kiss frantically, engulfed in a rising heat that threatens to suffocate them both. They have time, and no reason to rush, but slowing down is the furthest thing from Cassandra’s mind right now. All she wants to do is touch Rachel, to re-memorize every inch of her until all of the mistakes between them have been erased.

Their clothes litter the floor and bed beside them as they’re discarded, and there is little foreplay between them. They cling to one another in desperation, moving as one body. Cassandra grips onto Rachel’s shoulder with one hand and fucks Rachel with the other while Rachel holds onto her like a lifeline. It feels like she’ll never get close enough. She could crawl inside of Rachel and it still wouldn’t be enough. Everything about this girl is a holy experience in this moment, and Cassandra is nearly brought to tears by the power of her own want.

“God, I missed you,” she whispers. “I missed you so much.”

“Fuck,” Rachel cries into her shoulder, and buries her head there as her body tenses. She comes with a low whine, and then a sob, shaking and holding Cassandra close to her chest.

The emotion is overwhelming. She breathes in the scent of Rachel’s hair, feels the heat of their bodies pressed together, and her throat constricts. There was a part of Cassandra that was distinctly sure that she would never get to do this again, and yet here she is, entangled with Rachel. Forgiven. Whole.

“I’m always crying,” Rachel sighs, and Cassandra chuckles and chokes back her own tears.

“It’s okay,” she says, and rolls over just enough to give Rachel some breathing room. “It’s charming.”

“Well that’s how I know you love me,” Rachel laughs. “I guarantee no one on Earth has ever found my tendency to cry at the drop of a hat charming. Not even my dads think that.”

Cassandra hums and laces their fingers together over Rachel’s stomach. The urgency from earlier has evaporated, but the intimacy is still there. Sondheim has wisely taken a spot on the couch, and the apartment is quiet except for the sound of traffic outside. The stillness of this moment is perfect, like the undisturbed surface of a body of water.

“I do, you know,” Cassandra says after a few minutes. 

“What?” Rachel asks, fingers combing gently through Cassandra’s hair.

She hesitates to say it, because she’s not sure what any of this means, and she feels fragile. “Love you. I know I fucked up, but that was always true. Even when I could barely remember where to find my bed some nights, I knew that I loved you.”

Rachel turns to face her, eyes searching Cassandra’s face for a minute (for what, Cassandra doesn’t know, but she holds her breath in anticipation), before she kisses her softly.

“I love you,” Rachel whispers. “I know that this isn’t some fairytale. Things aren’t going to magically be perfect. But I’ve been waiting for you without even meaning to. I know that I can do things without you, but I don’t want to if I don’t have to. I feel traces of you in every part of me. That has to mean something. Even if it’s dramatic, it’s true.”

“You don’t get to be the head of dance at NYADA if you can’t appreciate a little drama, Schwimmer,” Cassandra says with a smirk. “So what do you want to do now?”

“First,” Rachel says, rolling over so that she’s now straddling Cassandra, pressing warm and heavy across her hips, “I want to finish what we started. And after that, I think we try this again.”

“The sex?” Cassandra asks, fingers trailing up Rachel’s thighs.

“Well, yeah,” Rachel laughs. “That, too.”

xx

Opening night of _Falling for the Wrong One_ finds Cassandra weaving through throngs of cast and crew backstage. Someone is calling for key actors behind her and the show is starting in just a few minutes. She pops her head into a dressing room to find Rachel frantically shoving her feet into a pair of heels.

“Cutting it a little close here, Schwim,” Cassandra says.

Rachel huffs, her breath blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes. She looks stressed, and Cassandra thinks she’s two seconds away from a breakdown.

“My heel broke on the way to the stage,” she says. “It’s a bad omen.”

“Breaking your ankle would have been a bad omen,” Cassandra corrects. She sits down across from Rachel and hands her a second shoe. “Hey. I’ve watched you rehearse this a thousand times. You’re going to go out there and give an award-worthy performance that would bring Barbara herself to tears and then I’m going to take you out for ice cream when it’s over. Sound good?”

Rachel nods and Cassandra kisses her soundly on the head.

She watches the show from the wings and mostly spends her time focusing on blocking and choreo, making notes for corrections during their next rehearsal. But there are times when Rachel is on stage, singing her heart out, and Cassandra feels her chest flutter with something that’s a little bit disbelief and a whole lot of love.

There was a time when Cassandra’s future was nothing more than another day at NYADA teaching kids with more money than talent, followed by another night with frozen margaritas until she passed out on the couch. The idea of a long-term relationship, or a career on Broadway, or even being on speaking terms with her sister, was not even a thought present in the furthest reaches of her subconscious. Now she has all three, along with a dog that she grudgingly loves almost more than her girlfriend, a handful of friends that she enjoys bickering with on occasion, and a sponsor who can eat his weight in food in one sitting and always knows exactly the right thing to say, no matter how irritating it is.

And she has Rachel, who is still the best Cassandra has ever seen. But the way Rachel tells it, Cassandra is the best _she’s_ ever seen. Together, they may just be the best anyone has ever seen. Cassandra thinks she’s probably okay with that.


End file.
